maryjane

“Yo, I’m coming over right now.”

“Like, right now?” You were just in the middle of cleaning up your desk with your antibacterial wipes and all the rest of the mess that had piled up from the start of the week - some uncleaned dishes, empty ramen cups, all of your clothes that were thrown on your chair, the small bin that was pretty full by now. You’d managed to neglect tidying and doing the house chores right up until the weekend when you really couldn’t ignore it for any longer.

“You’re being in my youtube video.” Beomgyu states matter-of-factly over the phone. You can hear his footsteps, the sounds of cars and the outside winds from his end, which means he quite literally was coming over to yours right this moment.

You tiredly sigh, pulling out another wipe from the packet with aggression, your phone on speaker. “Why do I need to be in it?”

“Your building’s the haunted one right?”

“Supposedly.”

“Thennnn it’s perfect! I’ll be there in ten.” He hangs up.

You close your eyes briefly and shake your head, one hand on your hip, then, opening your eyes to survey your half cleaned room. Dealing with beomgyu, however, was an even greater effort than cleaning your entire messy student accom times ten.

He’s not exactly your best friend. That title belongs to taehyun. Taehyun is unfortunately both of your best friends which is how you met beomgyu. And even more unfortunately, taehyun is traitorously abroad for the semester at the moment, so now beomgyu has redirected his full energy and badgering onto you, because ‘you’re the next best thing’ apparently, beomgyu’s words.

You won’t lie, you were apprehensive of beomgyu at first, didnt quite like him. Taehyun was your childhood best friend. It was only ever you and him from the beginning. Taehyun has always just got you. He thought in the same way as you, a mutual understanding ever since you were four, when everyone else on the playground was wailing over the smallest of things like getting their knee a little scraped and missing their mothers after forty minutes of being in school, both of you unimpressed by the dramatics of the other four year olds, and you’ve been stuck together like gorilla glue ever since. He’s been with you from primary school, the same secondary school, all the way up until you were applying to university together. You’d ended up naturally picking the same one, the same subject, both of you inevitably stem based people.

You’d falsely assumed it would simply be just the two of you once more, navigating adulthood together. But, when you started university, he suddenly got super close to this one dude named Choi beomgyu. To be honest, you had hated his guts. Whenever taehyun talked about him, mentioned him in passing, you gained an overwhelming amount of ugly jealousy at hearing his name.

“Oh, beomgyu this, oh, beomgyu that.”

“Oh, I can’t, I already made plans with beomgyu.”

“Oh, beomgyu says blah, blah, blah.

“Oh, I’m too busy making out with beomgyu that day.”

Alright, he didn’t exactly say that last part, but he may as well have. It was like he was in love with him or some shit. They even had their own inside jokes that you weren’t a part of already.

Now, you’re a pretty good people reader, priding yourself in being a good judge of character. You like to think you can mostly already tell whether you’ll like someone’s vibe and whether they were cool and nice and genuine from first meeting them. In your head, you’d already made up in your mind that this choi beomgyu guy was some slimy bitch trying to steal your close friend away from you. You just thought taehyun had terrible perception and couldn’t see how much of a snake this beomgyu guy really was. So, you were already adamant that once you met him, it’d only validate all the feelings you had towards him and then, you could tell taehyun he was evil and not to be trusted and taehyun would realise you were right and stop being friends with him. Balance restored.

Because, well, you were terrified. Terrified that you could lose the sole person who had always been there and understood you without translation, afraid of having to go through the rest of this scary adult life with that being taken away. This had never happened before. Beomgyu threatened all of that for you.

And then, you finally actually met beomgyu on the campus cafe one day. And you do admit, it was hard not to like him even when you absolutely didn’t want to at all. He wasn’t slimy or snakey or fake. He was alas, very likeable. Annoyingly, infuriatingly so. Warm and friendly and all unadulterated smiles.

He was genuinely delighted to meet you, like you were some kind of micro celebrity. “So you’re the famous childhood friend. Taehyun talks about you all the time. It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Beomgyu's eyes were shining.

You soon realised it was all one sided, all the territorial resentment was of your own invention, that he wasn’t trying to steal your best friend away from you, that taehyun wouldn’t replace you, and that you were being totally, completely childish. Beomgyu always greeted you kindly if he ever saw you on campus alone, he went out of his way to become friends with you too, whenever it was the three of you, he made sure to never exclude you, having this habit of always checking your expression mid conversation to see what you were thinking, and he remembered the smallest things you mentioned only once in passing. He soon wormed his way into your life too. You got it. You guess you liked this choi beomgyu guy as well now.

You concluded it wasn’t the case of taehyun being taken away from you, but that there was now one more person who loved taehyun unconditionally just as much as you did. And you definitely wouldn’t hate that person, because taehyun deserves an abundance of love. ‘Sharing is caring’ or whatever shit they say. In short, you got over it. You embraced choi beomgyu in your life too. But there’s still a limit to just how much choi beomgyu doses you can take in one go.

There’s loud banging on your door nine minutes later.

You open it and unsurprisingly, it’s beomgyu, a little breathless from the flight of stairs he had to go up, hair windswept and cheeks and nose slightly tinted pink from the cold, but he's clearly very excited. He breezes past you and throws his dirty backpack onto your desk, which you had just sanitised, and immediately starts pulling objects out of it, a tripod, a small camera, a ring light. Then, he pulls something else out of his bag with dramatic flair, some kind of obnoxious, glittery, pink box, holding it up proudly in front of you.

“Ouija board.” Beomgyu grins, breathing still heavy, wiggling his eyebrows.

Your gaze travels from the box to his face and back again. “And where’d you get that from?”

“I was at that shop on Croft Street.” He’s entirely pleased with himself.

You furrow your brows, trying to place what he’s talking about in your head, and then you nod. “Ohh,” you think you can picture it now, “the vintage antique place?”

Beomgyu hesitates for the tiniest second, rubbing at the back of his neck, gaze flicking away just briefly. “Erm, no. The one next to it.”

“There’s only the…-Wait, the sex shop??” Your voice jumps an octave. “What? I thought it closed down.”

Beomgyu shrugs, trying to maintain his facade of confidence. “Well anyway, the lady, she gave it to me free with my purchase! Isn’t that so nice?”

“You bought something from there?”

He tilts his chin up in defence and puffs out his chest, expression shifting into a look of totally exaggerated dignity and defensiveness. “I can if I want to. I’m an adult. None of your business.”

Alright, fair. You shrug. “Why the hell would they be giving out ouija boards though? And why would you take it?”

“Beats me. But what’s free is free! Look how cool it looks!” He shoves it more into your face, beaming, waiting for you to agree too.

To be honest, nothing beomgyu does can surprise you that much anymore.

You let out the biggest melancholic sigh. “I miss taehyun.”

“So do I. At least he’d be giving me way better reactions than you are right now.” Beomgyu points a brow at you, disappointed with your lack of enthusiasm, but then his grin creeps back. “Anyway, this is going to be such a good video for my channel.”

Yes, his channel. A new interest of beomgyu’s, his most recent endeavour. He was now an aspiring youtuber. He'd already gained ten thousand subscribers actually, which he mentions a lot, but it was pretty impressive. People thought he was handsome, apparently, he also mentions that a lot. His goal though has been to get more followers and take the crown of the campus youtuber which currently resided to some other choi. Yeonjun, is his name you think. Truthfully, beomgyu is pretty good at making entertaining content, you've watched a few (all of them. You wouldn't tell him that though.) he was naturally so very hilarious and quick witted, you wondered how he managed to come up with such funny things to say at the right moment unscripted.

“What’s that gonna be?” You already had an inkling, you just wanted to hear it from his dumb mouth.

He’s pulling out his camera, setting it on the tripod and adjusting its height. “I’m holding a seance in your room. Okay the title,” he turns around to you, continuing excitedly with his hands in the air like he was presenting the headline right there. “We Contacted a Real Ghost in the Most HAUNTED Uni Accommodation Building. NOT clickbait. What d’you think?”

“It’s not actually haunted.” You snort.

“Didn’t some guy die like, years ago?” Beomgyu counters, “some fratboy going up the stairs drunk, slipped, and fell all the way down. Dead. That’s why everyone’s always scared to take the stairs after a night out.”

That is how the story goes. You’re pretty sure it’s fake. An urban legend recycled every year by the first years to scare each other. There’s no real news or evidence for it. “Yeah, but those are just rumours though.”

“Well, we’ll find out for sure today.” Beomgyu declares. “Now, do you have any candles?”

Both of you now sit cross-legged on your carpet floor with a circle of all the candles you own, the strong scents of all of them, mixing together and making your room have a strange amalgamation of smells that doesn’t really go well, the glittery pink ouija board placed in the middle of it and your room dimly lit, lights off, curtains drawn too for the aesthetic.

Beomgyu approves, satisfied and picks up the camera, shoving it into both of your faces. “Okay, make your most scared face. It’s for the thumbnail.” You comply, both of you making theatrical frightened faces, beomgyu fully committed to it, his features entirely contorting and making a silly face like he was crying, which you can’t help but giggle at a little.

He mounts the camera back onto the tripod, adjusting the lens with careful precision and then checks himself out, running a hand through his hair, content with how he looks. “Let us begin.” Beomgyu says in a weird, deep voice. He deviously smirks and presses play.

“Hey guys!” Beomgyu starts, switching into that slightly agitating content creator voice, his demeanour shifting. “Today we are investigating a real haunted university accommodation building! The legend goes that a student was walking up the stairs drunk after partying, slipped, fell all the way down and unfortunately died. Now they haunt the stairwell and all the students ever since…Today we’re here with one of the victims who has to endure all these hauntings on a daily basis. Tell me, how often is it that you hear strange noises and sounds? See figures?”

“Oh, uh, never.” You reply, staring blankly.

Beomgyu sighs exasperatedly at you, shoulders sagging, whispering. “You can’t just say that. This is content. Make some shit up!”

“Right, sorry.” You try again, clearing your throat and straightening your posture. “All the time. I’m so terrified.” You say gravely into the camera with widened eyes. “I can never fall asleep. I can hear their footsteps and breathing outside my door every single night.” You lean closer to the camera with a crazed face.

“oohh that’s good,” beomgyu says, delighted by your performance, clapping. “You’re actually a better actor than taehyun.” Beomgyu slowly pans the camera across your room. “Guys, just look at this place,” he whispers, “This room is definitely haunted. Look how old and musty it is. Woahh.”

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “It’s not musty…” You mutter bitterly, taking offence. You just spent a long while trying to clean it too.

After beomgyu is done with his talking and grand introduction, briefly reading the rules it came with before tossing it away carelessly, you both stare at the ouija board, placing both your fingers on the planchette.

“If we get possessed, make sure to like and subscribe! Oh, and comment down below right now in five, four, three, two, one!” Beomgyu then turns to face you. “I’ve never used an ouija board before. Have you?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Remember when it was trending back in the day? My mum never let me. I missed out big time.” he says faux solemnly, shaking his head, “but I’m reclaiming what was denied to me,” You have no idea what he’s going on about. “Okay,” he begins theatrically. “Spirits of this building. If you are here, please give us a sign.”

For a moment, nothing happens. You tilt your head despite yourself, trying to listen out, if you can hear anything abnormal, anything out of the blue.

“Is anyone here with us?” Beomgyu asks hopefully.

More silence. It stretches for long enough. The planchette remains perfectly still and the red recording light from the camera is still naively blinking like it was hoping to catch something too. You raise a brow unimpressed, but knowing this would obviously happen. You feel ridiculous, this whole thing is. You sigh, ready to give up already, not sure why you agreed in the first place-

But then, you feel a force, moving the planchette, dragging it beneath your fingers. Beomgyu gasps. As do you. The small triangular piece glides and stops over two simple letters.

H

I

Beomgyu’s jaw drops. “Oh my god! Guys, there’s someone with us! Hello! Thank you for joining us. Who are we speaking to?” The planchette moves again, dragging both your fingers along with it.

C

H

A

D

It spells out. You blink. Beomgyu blinks.

“Chad…” beomgyu says slowly. “Woah. Nice to meet you, chad.”

“How did you pass away?” You ask, sceptical, furrowing your brows and leaning forwards to the board.

S

T

A

I

R

S

Beomgyu slaps a hand to his mouth. “Holy shit, guys! It’s true. This is chad the fratboy! He really did slip and fall going up the stairs oh my god! This is crazy! We’re speaking to a fratboy ghost!” Beomgyu’s eyes sparkle with excitement, looking into the camera.

It slides once again, something else supposedly pushing the planchette.

U

2

S

I

N

G

L

E

?

You stare at him flatly, warning, “Beomgyu.”

“What? I’m not doing it.” Beomgyu then laughs awkwardly. “That’s a pretty weird thing to ask, chad. Haha…”

No, it’s obviously beomgyu doing this for the views. You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, untrusting, but he’s looking down at the board with those pure glittering eyes of his with genuine fascination and awe. It’s not the first time you’ve assumed the worst of him when he’s been anything but. Still, maybe he’s just a good actor.

Chad, the ‘ghost’ tugs the triangular piece and moves across letters for another time.

I

M

H

O

R

N

Y

…

You pull your hands back immediately with a scoff, getting up from the floor in sheer disgust. “That’s it. You’re absolutely moving it.” This whole thing was ridiculous. You don’t know why you almost even believed it for a split second. Damn that boy with his sparkly eyes that almost fooled you.

“I swear it’s not me!”

“It’s literally you.” You grab a pillow from your bed, throwing it at beomgyu. He’s definitely messing with you.

He collapses onto the floor, cackling, throwing the pillow back at you. “Why the hell would I deliberately move it to ‘I’m horny’ ?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re a very strange, very weird person?”

All of your candle flames in the circle suddenly flicker violently, causing both of you to snap your head back and look at the scene of the abandoned seance. The planchette begins to move, but on its own, erratically.

I

D

I

O

T

S

It feels as though there’s an immediate gust of chilling, cold wind in your room, but your window is firmly closed shut. The candles go all out, vanishing. It is all pitch black.

You scramble blindly for your light switch near you, flipping it on, the sudden flood of brightness stinging your eyes but relieving. You tremble, genuinely frightened and creeped out by whatever just happened.

Beomgyu swallows slowly. “….okay see?” He raises his hands in surrender. “It was not me.”

You reach over and flip the board upside down, absolutely done with it. “Seance over. Goodbye, chad.”

“That was…so sick!” Beomgyu blurts out, eyes wide. “I can’t believe we got that on video!”

You bite your nails, unsure what to do, freaking out, trying to process. That was weird. Super weird. Beomgyu, in comparison, seems pretty fine about it, just shocked and very thrilled at the prospect of catching a real ghost on camera, probably thinking that he’s definitely going to go viral with this.

The ghost didn’t seem that particularly threatening, it was just a fratboy, and some ghosts don’t have to be evil. But still, you’re pretty spooked out. Even more so since you’ve never believed in the supernatural. It never made sense to you, no actual proof, no logic to it. But you’d just seen that board move by itself with your own eyes. And even though you’ve never believed in it, you still never loved the horror genre, never a fan. You remember the first time you ever watched a horror film with taehyun at the age of ten. Both of you were scared shitless, deciding to sleep together with the lights on all night in the same bed because neither of you wanted to be alone. And you didn’t really want to be alone in your room now, knowing there was some spirit floating around in your building. You don’t think you’d be able to sleep at all. There’s no taehyun. But asking beomgyu to stay would be too humiliating for you.

It seems beomgyu notices your expression though, studying and checking you carefully. That attentive, perceptive, annoying habit of his where he can tell what you are thinking. He softens at the sight of you. “You know,” beomgyu says slowly, thoughtfully, “I’m…pretty creeped out right now.”

You look at him, surprised. “You are?”

“Totally.” Beomgyu scratches his head. “So uh…is it alright if I stay the night with you? I don’t really wanna go back by myself.”

“Yeah,” You nod instantly, without question, alleviated, the reply coming out of your mouth far too quickly. You clear your throat, trying to salvage some kind of dignity, “I have an air mattress.”

Beomgyu presses his lips together, trying not to smile. You really are so similar to taehyun in certain ways.

You lie in bed, flat on your back, restless, looking up towards the ceiling, still scared and paranoid.

Beomgyu is lying on the air mattress that you had inflated. It’s been three hours now. You still can’t sleep. You’re grateful that beomgyu is in the same room as you but you can’t see him at all since he’s below you, your bed frame raised higher. You still feel slightly alone. You kind of want him on the same bed as you. It would be a lot more comforting. But, you definitely cannot ask that.

An hour passes of you contemplating whether to ask beomgyu but it’s way too embarrassing.

Another half an hour passes by painfully slow, still not being able to sleep and thinking whether you should just ask beomgyu. You huff. You’ll just have to do it. Nobody else is going to do it for you. You cannot continue lying here all night having an internal debate with yourself, you think you might go crazy. You’ll just have to swallow your pride and simply say something.

“Beomgyu.” You call out lowly.

There’s a faint shift from the floor. “Hm?” You hear his response coming down from below, his voice deep.

“Are you awake?”

“I wouldn’t have replied if I was asleep now, would I?”

You roll your eyes even in the dark. “Shut up.”

Beomgyu quietly chuckles. “What do you want?”

You brace yourself. You hate this. “Will you…will you…sleep on the bed with me?” Ew. You recoil and immediately consider wrapping yourself in your blanket and throwing yourself out the window.

There’s a pause. Then rustling as beomgyu gets up. “Okay.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t make fun of you. But, it’s not like your scared behaviour is unreasonable. The ghost was real. Not the most intimidating, a weird one named Chad, but still. It was creepy. Especially since you had never believed in them before.

Beomgyu just quietly lifts the covers up and lays beside you once you scoot towards the edge near the wall, making space for him. Your bed isn’t the biggest, so his shoulders bump gently against yours. You feel his warm presence and body immediately, feeling better and less jumpy.

“Thanks,” you mumble, a little sheepishly.

Beomgyu shifts slightly beside you, getting comfortable under the covers. “It’s alright,” he whispers gently.

You manage to get the littlest of sleep, a sliver of sleep, but at least it was something. You wake up in the morning to the faint sound of your bathroom door opening and closing, beomgyu had just gone in, space beside you empty, you feel the absence of his body on your mattress instantly. It’s colder.

You yawn and stretch your limbs from how cramped you were last night, but you immediately sense something strange. You feel some kind of weird…weight between your legs. It must be something from your shelf that fell off onto your bed and made its way under your covers, or something. You reach down, grabbing to pick it up, but it doesn’t move. It’s attached to you almost. You’re still tired and drowsy, eyes still bleary. You don’t know what the hell is going on and why this weird feeling object won’t move. You sit up, still confused. You try to pull it again, harder. It’s somehow attached to your skin? With a frown and a growing sense of unease, you move the covers off you and lift the waistband of your pyjama bottoms. You think you see something.

WHAT

THE

HOLY FUCK?!

You scream out in pure terror at what you see. At the exact same time, beomgyu screams from the bathroom, high pitched and shrill-like. The both of you screaming simultaneously for a very, very prolonged time.

This isn’t real. This can’t be real. You’re definitely still dreaming. This is not real. It can’t be. There’s no way in hell this is real. It’s impossible!

Beomgyu slams the bathroom door open with a bang, running out. His face is pale, disbelieving, mortified. “MY DICK. IT’S…I-IT’S GONE!” He looks like he’s seen a ghost, but that was yesterday and this is far worse somehow.

“I HAVE A DICK!”

You stare at each other dumbfounded, eyes wide and mouths dropping to the floor.

“WHAT?!” Both of you say at the same time again.

“I woke up with a penis!” You tell him, gesturing downwards, seeing if any of this exchange of information would help and make this make sense.

“I went to go piss and…a-and there was nothing there! I-i I have a-a vagina!” Beomgyu’s voice cracks, he looks like he’s about to weep.

“Right.” You rub your temples, trying to digest any of this, inhaling deeply, seeing you had to step in as the calm one, “Okay. Okay. We have to think about this…logically.”

Beomgyu gapes at you like you’ve lost your mind, “there’s NOTHING logical about this! At all!” He lets out an anguished cry.

You pace around your room, trying to think hard. “What did we do? What have we done that’s different?”

“The ouija board…”

Oh, right. That is really the only thing both of you have done that is different. And if ghosts existed now, you’re not that surprised if any of this can happen too. This has to be connected to it. “Do you think Chad cursed us or some shit?”

Beomgyu also frowns, deep in thought with a pout. “Nah, it can’t be. Why would he do that to us? He seemed nice.”

“He called us idiots.”

“As a term of endearment!” Beomgyu defends passionately for some reason. “I really don’t think we did anything to anger him. Maybe because I got it from a sex shop, it’s like a sex ouija board. It’s...freaky? Freaky…magic? Maybe it’s not actually chad. Chad seemed pretty nice. Just a horny guy. But hey, he hasn’t been able to have sex in years.”

You groan and flop back onto your bed in a crisis. “Shit, man. What should we do?”

Beomgyu ignores you. He’s too busy clasping both his hands together, eyes shut and whispering hysterically near your window. “I have a dick I have a dick I have my dick back I have a dick. I have my dick back I have my dick back I have a dickihaveadickihave a dickihave a dick.”

You sit up slightly to watch him, eyebrow raised. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He shoots you a glare, “I’m manifesting my precious organ back,” then he returns back to his desperate affirmations, repeating the words so intensely like a mad man.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“I say we call taehyun.” Beomgyu suggests, crazed, turning around to your already defeated form, laying spread out on the bed.

“Uh, why?” That sounds like a terrible idea.

He shrugs. “He’s good at magic tricks and all that magic shit. He’ll know what to do.”

“WHAT the fuck, no. He’s not going to know. I’m not asking him. He wouldn’t even know. We are not telling him any of this.”

“He might!”

You give beomgyu an incredulous look. “He does card tricks, bro. That shit’s not going to help.”

You knit your brows and grab your phone, frantically typing into the search bar different variations of your situation. Seeing it written out is beyond absurd and unsurprisingly, no matter how many ways you try to word it, there’s just nothing there. There’s no explanation and this has never happened to anyone else online ever.

From time to time you glance down at it, checking to see if it is still really there and not just both you and beomgyu experiencing some mass hallucination. It is always still there. Your anatomy is still switched.

Beomgyu also taught you how to piss standing up in the meantime, which was a lot harder than it looks to be honest.

The two of you sit on your bed in stunned silence in the aftermath of the discovery and shock, staring off, lost in doomed thought. Because, genuinely what were you supposed to do? What if this is permanent?

“Here.” You snap out of it, refusing to spiral, reaching into your drawer and pulling out one of your lacy, pink frilly panties, handing it to beomgyu.

Beomgyu raises a brow at you, staring at them like they’re going to blow up in his face.

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, just take them. They’ll be more comfortable.”

He slowly reaches out and hesitantly takes them. Beomgyu’s entire face heats up, turning the colour of a ripe tomato, it’s almost impressive how quickly it happens. He clears his throat. “Do you want my boxers?”

You glance down at him and then back up. “The one’s you’re wearing?”

He nods.

You gag. “Eugh. No, that’s disgusting.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because you’re wearing them!”

He opens his mouth to argue but stops and sighs. “Ugh. Fine, i’ll get you new ones…”

Beomgyu rushes back to his place, running out with his hands covering in between his legs as if anyone would notice and quickly gets some boxers for you, returning swiftly. They’re much more comfortable and they fit better for your new organ at least, but were you supposed to just accept this now? No, you’re just adapting. You’ve always been an adaptable person. You just have to adapt to this situation for now, yes. It’s the best way to react.

Beomgyu comes back from using the bathroom, cheeks dusted pink. “Peeing is still super weird…” he mumbles.

He pulls up his jeans, tugging and wriggling them into place with a small frown, but from the way your underwear is resting on his hips, they’re still so visible, the lacey fabric being seen.

You get distracted by the sight. The way the soft pink fabric sits against his hips, delicate and out of place against his usual style. It does something weird to you. A flicker of something passes through your mind, uninviting, you sharply look away, swallowing. But, you form some kind of sick idea, gears turning in your brain. It’s not a good idea, you know it isn’t.

“Okay, I’m going to be honest. And you need to hear me out…” You start slowly, testing, cautious.

“What?” Beomgyu asks, curious, but very suspicious.

You shift awkwardly on the bed, trying to think of a way to say this out loud that sounds less insane than it currently does in your head.

You take a breath, hesitating. “I think…”

Beomgyu watches you with narrowed eyes, waiting for you to continue saying whatever it is you have to say, “Go on.”

“…We should fuck.”

There is a long silence where he just stares at you blankly as if he didn’t quite hear you right, then his face twists into absolute bafflement.

“Excuse me?! Are you mental?!” Beomgyu squawks.

You hold your hands up in defence at his reaction. “Not because I want to!”

His eyes widen. “That’s not much of a reassuring clarification!”

“I-i mean-not that I don’t want to—!”

“WHAT?”

Fuck. You grasp at straws, trying to defend yourself. It made sense in your head! “Maybe it will be reversed like that! You said it yourself, maybe this is like…freaky magic!”

“What if it makes it permanent?!” Beomgyu shoots back instantly, making a horrified expression at the thought.

You pause. It’s not a possibility you had considered. Your eyes flicker around your room in thought, falling down to the pink glittery board still on your carpet floor. “Wait, we can ask chad! He has to know something.”

You pull out the ouija board and the two of you impatiently set up everything for it, sitting crosslegged once again. You place both your fingers onto the planchette and ask for the frat ghost once more.

“Are you with us, chad?” Beomgyu asks.

There’s a few minutes of silence, finally, he appears.

Y

E

S

You exhale slowly through your nose. “Did you curse us, chad?”

N

A

H

“Then who did?” You turn to beomgyu’s face with an exasperated sigh. “Do you know how to reverse it?” The planchette drags slowly across the board, almost playfully if that were possible.

M

A

Y

B

E

It’s not entirely an answer. You and beomgyu exchange an irritated look, trying not lose your temper over this dead frat boy. “If we…” you clear your throat awkwardly, “fuck, could we possibly go back to normal?” It moves immediately over the letters this time, almost enthusiastically.

Y

E

S

You take your fingers off with resignation. “There’s our answer…”

The planchette suddenly starts moving on its own again, something chad clearly likes doing. Both of you flinch.

F

U

C

K

“Oh my god…I hate this chad guy.” You mutter.

Beomgyu folds his arms across his chest with a grimace. “I’m beginning to hate him too now.”

You fold the board up and shove it into one of your drawers on your desk, wanting it out of your sight. The room falls uncomfortably quiet and heavy. Beomgyu does not make eye contact with you as he fiddles with the sleeve of his hoodie. You can tell he’s thinking about it though and you’re thinking about it more too. You bite your nails, turning to look at beomgyu, at the soft pink sitting across his cheeks, at the strips of lace still visible above the waistband of his jeans, resting high over his hips. Honestly, you are curious. And apparently it will work if you both do it so…it’s worth a try. There’s nothing else you can do. This seems logical to you, or as logical as it can get in this situation.

“I’ve lowkey always wondered what it would be like to have a dick.” You cut through the silence.

Beomgyu finally looks up at you, scandalised.

“What? I have.” You shrug. “Come on,” you continue, sitting up straighter. “You’ve never been curious to what it feels like? What sex feels like from the other side?”

He looks deeply conflicted. “This is the weirdest shit…” beomgyu murmurs.

“Well, yes, but no one has ever had this opportunity before.”

Beomgyu chews the inside of his cheek as he contemplates. You leave him to it. Because, whilst you are sort of strangely game to this, you know beomgyu is not. It’s his call.

You wait for a while to see what beomgyu will decide as he still chews the inside of his cheek, staring down at his lap. Then finally, he gives a tiny, nervous nod. “Fuck it. Let’s just do it. Let’s have sex,” he’s looking at you now with a strange mix of embarrassment and determination.

“Okay,” you reply, exhaling a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. You sit up a bit straighter, like that might make you seem more composed than you feel. “Okay.”

Beomgyu nods again, slower this time. “Okay,” he echoes, though it sounds less confident.

“Maybe we should…kiss?” You suggest, wincing almost.

“Why?”

“To…get us going?” you offer, even less certain now, your voice trailing slightly at the end. You clear your throat.

“Oh, uh, okay.”

“Okay.”

The two of you move onto the bed awkwardly, sitting opposite one another on top of the duvet. And suddenly everything feels much stranger and worse. Because it was one thing when it was all hypothetical, but now, actually sitting here, knees nearly touching, looking at each other like this and so close, is different. You don’t think either of you have ever really looked at each other like this before. You’ve never looked at beomgyu this up close and so intimately before, close enough to see the pretty mole near his mouth. The pair of you sit there for a few seconds in unbearable silence doing absolutely nothing, both of you too scared to actually start anything.

You eventually make a move first, mostly because if you do not, you think the two of you might actually stay frozen here forever. Your hand lifts awkwardly to his heated cheek, fingers brushing lightly against his skin. Beomgyu goes very still. You stare down at his lips and he does the same, nervously wetting them and then swallowing.

Awkwardly, hesitantly, you press your lips with his, brief, testing. Your lips barely brush before both of you pull back a little too quickly, recoiling. You try to kiss again before you can overthink it. It is so awkward, obviously, in the way that comes with clearly crossing a line between the both of you. But his lips are soft, very soft, perfectly soft. Yet, it’s not that surprising, they’d always seemed like it whenever you’d watched beomgyu’s lips move in a pout when he talked passionately or argued back about something, fascinated by it. His lips had an annoyingly pretty shape to them.

Gradually, some of the awkwardness thins out, dissolving and melting somewhere between some kisses and the next kisses. Until you’re not really thinking about it anymore, starting to get a little lost in beomgyu’s soft lips, your mouth caught between kissing his plush bottom lip, deeper, becoming much easier. Now, you’re making out with Choi beomgyu. Making out with your best friend’s other best friend. Never would you have thought this would happen, but maybe kissing beomgyu wasn’t the weirdest thing right now. Seriously, how did the most unlikely events manage to happen to you in the span of less than twenty four hours?

It’s getting to the both of you now, all the messy kissing, your faces tilting and moving in opposite directions continuously as you move your lips against each other, both of you kiss-drugged. It’s certainly getting you worked up, increasingly harder to think through, more fervent, your hands are in his hair, beomgyu is pulling you in closer by the back of your neck, then his hands go to your waist, gripping. You can feel the warmth of his breath between every kiss and the way he exhales shakily whenever you kiss him with more intensity. Making out with beomgyu is surprisingly very, very pleasant.

And when your mouth drifts from his lips, down to his jaw, brushing softly against the side of his neck, you feel him shiver. You start kissing his neck instead, sucking, leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses, beomgyu tips his head back, very into it, all of it going to his pretty little head, letting out little whimpers as you suck more and more, kissing the same sensitive spots on his pretty neck over and over.

His fogged up brain allows you to unbutton his jeans, unzipping them and letting you put your hand down them, slightly, slowly rubbing at his pussy through the lace underwear he's wearing, still focused on completely attacking his neck too. The effect is immediate, beomgyu positively squirms and lets out a shy little noise, grabbing to hold onto you more, hiding his face in your shoulder as he continues to whimper shakily the more you rub his folds through the panties. It doesn't take long at all until you can feel the material completely soaked, even catching on your fingers.

You pull away to tug beomgyu's jeans completely off him, leaving him only in your pink panties and his grey hoodie. The second he realises how exposed he is, he shuts his legs closed, his entire face completely red, his neck and ears too.

"Are you gonna let me see? Please?" You ask and tilt your head, cooing softly at how embarrassed beomgyu is. "I'm sure it's pretty." That doesn't really help, beomgyu just lets out an annoyed whine at you and his face somehow becomes even more red.

You place your hands onto his milky, smooth thighs instead, moving back and forth over them. "Come onn, gyu. I'll play with your pussy right. I’m the one who’ll know better. Don't you wanna know what it feels like? Your vagina needs me. She's drenched. She wants me." You can't help but burst out laughing.

"Oh, shut up.” Beomgyu rolls his eyes despite how embarrassed he is, voice going all high and whiny, playfully kicking you away. But after a moment, he quietly speaks up, “f-fine…touch me.” He brings his hands to his face to hide.

“You’re okay with it?”

Beomgyu nods slowly, still hiding his face. “Feels like I-i need it, need something…” he mumbles quietly, confused. It’s so cute.

“Okay,” you gently part beomgyu’s legs, he covers his face even more in his hands at this, slightly closing his legs on instinct but you push them wider. And you’re right, he’s completely soaked your panties, they’re so wet that you can see the outline of his folds through them, they’re basically transparent now.

You suck a breath at the sight, desperate to see fully. You push the cloth to the side, beomgyu’s newly attained pussy on display and you’re almost in awe, because it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, with delicate folds and a small clit peeking out from under it’s hood. It’s glistening, almost shining with slick too. You can’t take your eyes off beomgyu’s pussy. You swallow hard, mouth watering like you’ve just stepped into a forest clearing with a beautiful, sparkling, waterfall before you. It’s so pretty just like the rest of him.

“So perfect…” You gently trace his pussy lips with your fingers, grazing the entrance and then circling his clit but not touching it directly. Beomgyu takes in a breath, trembling at the light touching, horrified with shame, trying and failing not to react so strongly. He feels a throb inside, at the bottom of his tummy, some kind of itch he knows he himself can’t scratch, he feels this overwhelming kind of feeling, needing it to be taken care of. He peeks just to look a little at you through his fingers, stomach heaving erratically, his body reacting so needily.

You watch him as he does this. “Are you going to keep hiding?”

“It’s embarrassing.” Beomgyu groans dramatically and drops his head back against the wall behind him.

“It’s not that embarrassing. Take your hands away.” He does actually take them away from his face with a grumble, unsure what to do with his hands now, keeping them balled up on the mattress.

You tug the panties off him. As much as they do look good on him, they were irritating you now. You wanted to see more of him, all of him. Once they’re finally off, you trace gently once more and beomgyu exasperatedly sighs.

“Do something more!” Beomgyu complains, bucking his pelvis into your hand, whining.

“Chill, dude. I’m just trying to get you used to the feeling of having a vagina. It could be too much.”

“Well I’m used to it now.” Beomgyu snaps back.

You sneer at him, mouth twitching but slightly amused by how he can talk back even with how embarrassed he seems. “Tch, you’re annoying as hell.”

“So are you.”

“I’m just helping you.”

“Helping me? We need to fuck to be normal again! It’s not like I want this.”

“I don’t know, kinda seems like you want it.”

“I-i don’t.”

You raise me a brow. “Your pussy says different.” You lightly give it a slap and then rub the folds soothingly. Beomgyu yelps, wide eyed, shuddering, but it’s clear it arouses him. You see his hole clenching and unclenching at that.

You can’t help but grin a little. Mangled, startled mewls slipping out from beomgyu as you continue to lightly slap at his wet pussy over and over again until his clit is fully throbbing and his folds are so puffy and pink. He looks absolutely wrecked already, despite how little you have actually done. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, chest rising and falling in uneven little breaths beneath the oversized hoodie, slipping off one shoulder and exposing the tank top he’s wearing underneath.

“Please. Need something in it. Please.” Beomgyu gasps, a singular tear falling slowly, elegantly down one of his cheeks. Maybe you are being a bit too harsh with the teasing. With your thumb, you brush the tear away looking up at beomgyu’s teary, simmering, gorgeous doe brown eyes, some of his lashes clumped with unshed tears. You feel almost sorry.

“Aww, sorry. Just can’t help but play with the pretty doll.”

“Y/nnnn.” Beomgyu whines out heavily at you, pleadingly, brows scrunching up frustratedly. So finally, you bring the pads of your fingers to circle his hole, dipping one finger slowly into him, moving the littlest in and out. Beomgyu lets out a soft whimper and when you’re bored of just one, you add a second finger inside him. It slides easily in with an audible squelch, beomgyu winces, embarrassed at sounds he didn’t think his body would produce. You carry on pumping your fingers in at a pleasant pace, watching beomgyu’s reactions intently, loving how sensitive and reactive and new he is to all of this. It’s a lot for him already. But you’re also curious to taste his magical pussy. So bad.

“Why’d you do that—ahhhh!”

You remove your fingers completely out of him in one go, grabbing under his thighs and shoving your face into him instead, taking in the scent of his sweet, magical pussy and then sticking your tongue flat out, licking a sudden stripe on his slit, lapping at the stickiness. It’s like honey. Beomgyu tastes so good, you want to eat and eat and lick until you physically can’t, until your teeth rots from how sweet and yummy and addictive he tastes.

You tongue fuck him too, twisting, trying to reach deep. Every time your tongue drags over him, his body jerks. You decide to pay attention to beomgyu’s currently neglected clit, flicking your tongue over and over rabidly. Beomgyu nearly jumps out of his skin at this, not anticipating the raw nerves there and it is so intense, more than anything he’s ever experienced.

You decide to wrap your entire lips around the bundle of nerves instead, harshly sucking until they’re even more swollen.

“O-oh my godd- !” Beomgyu cries, flustered, taking a sharp intake of breath, screwing his eyes shut at the overwhelming sensation, his hands immediately flying to cover his face yet again. You bring the two sticky fingers back, stuffing them back into beomgyu’s cunt, pistoning them in and out and continuing to suck on beomgyu’s overly sensitive clit. His full lips are parted in an ‘o’ shape, mouth agape, prettiest choked up cries coming out of them, brows knitted together, head reeling back as well as his eyes. Beomgyu is sopping, you feel the new wave of slick every single time you push your fingers back in him. Every slight curl of your fingers making his thighs twitch. You also start a scissoring motion with the two fingers inside, spreading him open, making him squirm so much, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There’s something almost helpless about him now.

Beomgyu shifts restlessly against the bed, shaking, clearly trying to deal with the strange, feeling building inside him. “I-I I think I’m gonna come!” You’re obsessed. You drag beomgyu down even more to eat him out at a closer, better angle, feasting on his pretty cunt, hungrily, mouth, tongue moving frantically, making your own muffled groans against his flesh that no doubt send vibrations through his already overwhelmed body, going out of his mind with need.

Beomgyu falls apart easily with a strangled cry, tears spilling over his red apple cheeks, fighting against your hold. His hips buck so much into your face as he orgasms, you think he nearly breaks your nose, but you don’t care, his legs trembling and clenching at the sides of your face, a slush of juices gushing and flooding out of his already drenched cunt. You’re genuinely mesmerised by it all, lapping all the juices up, slurping it all clean.

“T-too muchh!” Beomgyu shakes at the overstimulation, squealing and whining slightly painfully. Reluctantly, you pull your face out from in between his legs.

The sheer intensity of it leaves beomgyu breathless and in shock, utterly undone as he pants, and pants in a daze, red in the face, having never felt like that before. “Jesus fucking christ. People with vaginas have orgasms like this?”

You huff out a quiet laugh. “Yeah lol. Why? It’s much more different?”

Beomgyu nods, still panting, trying to breathe regularly. “Uh huh.”

You push your soaked fingers out of his cunt, tapping them together to watch the thick strings connect like webs.

You bring them to beomgyu’s pretty mouth. “Wanna taste your pretty pussy?” Beomgyu does so without a fight, wrapping his swollen, plump, glossed and round lips to them, sucking your fingers dry, looking up at you with those pure sparkling eyes through his doll-like lashes, fluttering his eyelids like a slut. You don’t know if it’s purposeful.

It’s only now you notice the rush of blood to your dick. You’re hard as hell, you were too focused on beomgyu to think of anything else. But it feels even heavier, aching, straining. You need to fuck him so bad.

“Can we fuck?” You ask him.

“A-alright.” Beomgyu gulps, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You rid yourself of your own clothes, taking ahold of your length in your hands, bringing yourself closer to beomgyu’s body. You close your eyes and inhale and exhale a number of times, trying to calm yourself, firstly, slapping the length lightly on his folds. Beomgyu seems to be in the same predicament, trying to calm himself down too, he’s staring down at the scene carefully, feeling his face heat up, cheeks burning.

You start to rub your cock on beomgyu’s cunt, rubbing the slitted tip from his entrance and up to his clit, focused more on the friction with the head and clit together. The tip now stuck with strings of beomgyu’s sweet slick, is much more sensitive than the rest of it and you shiver at the feeling, both you and beomgyu gasping at them rubbing and sliding slippery against each other.

“Okay…I’m gonna put it in. Is that okay?” You brace yourself, mentally preparing for it. Suddenly, you’re reminded that this is actually a one of a kind, very awkward situation to be in.

Beomgyu nods, bottom lip caught between his teeth, he’s bracing himself too. “Yeah, okay.”

Slowly, you bring the head of the cock to his wet, eager hole, pushing it in, stretching out the delicate ring of skin at the entrance until it pops completely in with a small, moist, squelching noise, both of you gutturally groaning out. You wait a little until attempting to push in the rest of the girth inside, inch by inch, watching his face attentively as you carefully ease the rest in. You stop once you do this, allowing him and you to get used to it.

“You okay?” You brush the strands of messy hair away from beomgyu’s eyes.

Beomgyu is stuffed. He nods, blushing so hard and face flushed so much he practically looks feverish, whole face somehow going even redder, which just shouldn’t be physically possible at this point at all.

It’s so warm and soft and slippery, the length being fully tucked inside.

“You can move.” Beomgyu breathes out eventually.

So, apprehensively, you begin to test the waters. You pull all the way back out and then sheath it all the way back in the tight but softly delicate space, the searing friction at this causing you to shudder, lips parting at the feeling. “Oh…”

“Fffuu.” Beomgyu dulcetly whimpers too, it’s hard to get used to, stretched out so much, feeling everything side, every ridge of the length.

You begin a pace of leisurely rocking in and out of beomgyu’s cunt, watching the way the pretty pussy swallows your new dick whole, enveloping it each time, the motion of pushing and pulling creating more intense feelings for you.

“You’re taking it so well,” you murmur lowly and strained, trying not lose yourself in the pleasure of fucking slow into beomgyu’s goopy, gorgeous, spongey pussy.

He’s still quietly whimpering and you can practically see him trying to make sense of what he is feeling until his expression changes as he realises just how good it feels, allowing himself to relax and succumb to it.

It’s a new sensation. Being the one to fuck into rather than fucked into. You try to hit further, deeper inside beomgyu at a different angle, giving an experimental thrust. He instantly moans out loud and pretty to your ears, his toes curling.

“How does it feel, gyu?”

“Weird. I-i feel so full. Feels good.” Beomgyu barely squeaks out. His pouted lips stay parted, the prettiest little sounds spilling out every few seconds with each push in no matter how much he tries to hold them back, spreading his legs thoughtlessly even wider, both of his hands now coming to rest underneath his thighs, holding them apart for you.

“H-how does it feel for you?” Beomgyu looks up at you, curiously, thick eyelashes fluttering every time you move just right, voice trembling.

“Mm. Feels really good too.” You nod, knitting your brows, lips pressed together in concentration, gritting your teeth, fucking into his gummy walls, deeper, harder, staring down where your bodies connect, his ripe pussy just sucking you in, seeing how deep it goes every time, so greedy and hungry, growing more wet and sticky between you both.

You start to move more confidently without realising it, hips snapping into his with sticky sounds that follow. You’re sweating, it’s tiring, but it feels so good. It’s so hard to think about anything else anymore, it’s just alll consuming. You can see it on beomgyu’s pretty little face too, so debauched, glistening with sweat too, mellifluously whining continuously.

“Fuck, y/nn!-ughhhgh!”

You lift one of beomgyu’s legs up by his dainty ankle, holding it straight against you, the new angle allowing you to bury yourself even deeper in his mystical cunt, against his cervix, sickeningly enjoying the way he cries out at this. The position is far more vulnerable for him and beomgyu looks so hot like this, flustered, body jolting and bouncing along with every ram into him, your dick splitting him open. You love it.

Beomgyu is so fucked out, eyes hooded in ecstasy, dumbly drooling, soft long hair messy and splayed, red, sweaty, button nose scrunched up, biting his glossed full lips raw, you can feel the one leg you have up, shaking, like a pretty fawn. He makes another helpless sound.

“Such a—mhmm-pretty girl…” Fucking beomgyu like this is getting to you, your brain is so pussydrunk, you’re just murmuring any shit as you pound beomgyu’s obscenely puffy, glistening pussy. It’s taking everything in you not to cum so soon.

Beomgyu whines with furrowed brows and a tremor. “I’m not a girl!”

“Come on. You already look like a—hahhh-girl, beomgyu. Maybe you should have a pussy all the time, keep you fucked all the time. I wouldn’t mind.” You meanly laugh.

Beomgyu cries, embarrassed, shaking his head, but he’s quite literally moaning out like a girl right now, so incredibly loud and high pitched and airy compared to his usual deep voice.

You grin suspiciously wide at him, and then you grab a hold of his other leg, folding them both over his chest to plow into him even more, your dick carving and curving up inside of him beyond deeper, hitting such a sweet spot for him, tearing a sudden, alarmed moan to rip out from beomgyu’s mouth.

“Look at you…you love this, beomgyu, being fucked and full like a girl. Don’t you?” You cruelly slap his mushy clit raw and red as you fuck him faster, barely holding off your orgasm. You’re not used to how quickly the sensation builds, immediate. You’re not going to last long. You quickly bring your thumb to beomgyu’s clit, rubbing over it fast, knowing it will do it for him. “You love having a pussy, don’t you?”

Beomgyu’s body arches, writhing, hands twisting in the sheets, full on sobbing, pretty tears streaming down his hot face. “I do, I do! Shitshit-ohhmygod!” Beomgyu completely convulses, spasming, eyes rolling to the back of his head, pussy fluttering and clamping down so hard on your cock, long waves of pleasure completely crashing over him as you watch his pussy give out and squirt all over, juices surging, flowing, cascading out of him gorgeously and wondrously. The sight of beomgyu squirting and clenching around you completely does it for you as you moan out too, cursing, giving one last, hard ram into his cunt until you feel yourself go over the edge too, his magical cunt making you cum so hard you genuinely see stars, filling beomgyu’s hole to the brim, overflowing, stuffed with your cum that you can see a white creamy ring around your dick.

You pull out with a shudder, watching the way your cum oozes and gloops out from his sensitive hole, his pussy completely wrecked. You don’t think his hole can give out anymore cum but it still slowly drips out of him like pearly beads, like pretty pearls from clam shells. You’re so entranced. “Holy fuck…”

Beomgyu completely melts into the sheets, drained, exhausted, boneless, dry tear stains on his pink cheeks. He’s looking up at you so dreamily, so content and satisfied from being fucked.

“I think that was like, the most intense orgasm I’ve had in my entire life. What the actual fuck.” Beomgyu states with very laboured breathing.

You can’t help but kiss his soft lips sweetly again and he kisses you back. “You genuinely did so good, beomgyu. I got a bit carried away, sorry.” You sheepishly tell him.

Beomgyu hides his face in his hands again, tips of his cute ears turning red. “It’s okay. I…liked it.” For a moment, both of you just pant, laying on the bed, but then beomgyu speaks up timidly. “If we go back to normal tomorrow, should we…fuck again?”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, before you’re grinning again. “Hell yeah,” having absolutely not had your fill of his pussy just yet. You figured you may as well if it will all disappear in the morning.

Now, you’re pushing beomgyu’s face into your pillow, his ass up in the air as you spread his pretty pussy apart, watching the way it’s still dripping, you push your thumb a little in the hole, watching it still twitch and clench, still wanting more, so greedy. Beomgyu’s head is tilted, one side of his cheek smooshed into the pillow to look at you from behind eagerly.

“Come onnnn.” He whines out brattily, so impatient, arching his back even more seductively.

You lightly spank his little ass before digging your nails into his hips and slamming your dick inside once more, pounding into his delicious, succulent, messy cunt once again as beomgyu cries out muffled underneath, drooling onto your pillow, rocking his hips like a whore to meet your thrusts, fucking your cum and his juices back in.

You don’t know how long you guys go at it for but you’re ripping multiple, countless orgasms out of beomgyu, pushing his delicate body into different positions like the pretty doll he is, spurting cum multiple times inside his pussy and all over his pretty body, because you may as well, it’s quite a once in a lifetime thing, savouring how it feels to fuck his cunt and every pretty noise that comes out of his mouth, continuing to fuck the daylights out of him.

Both of you wake up in the morning to your genitalia, thankfully, or perhaps unthankfully, indeed, back to normal. Chad the ghost was actually right.

Both of you go back to Croft Street to return the freaky ouija board to the sex shop beomgyu purchased it from, not wanting to deal with anymore paranormal activity, fine with what experience you have. But, when you stand in front of the sex shop with beomgyu, it has in fact, been closed for months now, boarded up and was definitely not open because you found out the owner had died a while back, hence why it was shut down, even though beomgyu swears down they were the one who served him. Neither of you try to think about that.

Instead, you sell it to the vintage antique place next door, someone else can deal with that. You also make sure not to reapply to that accommodation building next year and to go elsewhere. Beomgyu uploads the YouTube with the salvageable footage he had left and it goes viral. He becomes the number one famous campus youtuber like he wanted and gains many more subscribers. He doesn’t stop talking about it. Not once.

When taehyun finally returns back from his semester abroad, you and beomgyu decide to surprise him at the airport together, running to hug taehyun’s shocked face once he comes out of the arrivals terminal. He’s so touched he nearly cries, but taehyun swears he didn’t even have tears in his eyes.

Now, all three of you are sitting in a cafe at the airport with drinks.

“I watched the video you guys did together. It was super good. It’s a funny skit. Love how you guys managed to make it look so real.” Taehyun says, watching you both.

“Haha! Thanks.” Beomgyu forces a laugh, slurping his milkshake.

“So you guys had some bonding time whilst I was gone then?” Taehyun asks, curiously.

Both you and beomgyu splutter on your straws. Beomgyu starts actually choking so much that you have to hit at his back. “Y-yeah…!” He manages eventually, eyes watering.

You rub at your neck. “You could say that..”

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: idk how this reads i didnt proof read I’m so sorry if everyone hates this. I wanted to be more creative 😭 it was very interesting to write smut with the reader having a dick since ive never written that before, I’ll admit I had a bit of difficulty trying to write in that pov 😭😭 but it was fun !! upside down kiss - txt is absolutely the song for this fic 😼😼 I recommend. Babygirl let’s get freaky.

he's so, so incredibly clingy— you were only gone for a few hours, yet he treats it like it's been years since he last saw you. he sits next to and watches you eat with starry eyes, neglecting his food until you scold him to eat. even then, he simply opens his mouth childishly, going "ahhhh" until you give in and feed him yourself. the victorious smile on his face is enough to keep you from getting annoyed with him.

puppy!beomgyu who can get a little possessive sometimes— but it's a normal trait for dog hybrids, isn't it? it's the only way you can reason the way he's acting tonight. you only agreed to let him be your plus one to your company dinner after he started crying when you said no; you'd only done it in fear of him getting overwhelmed from being in such a crowded room, and now you wonder if you should've put your foot down back then.

he's quiet— it's unusual to see him like this, so reserved and observant. but, that's not what's been bothering you tonight, no, it's the way he's been looking at anyone that even thinks about approaching you— his ears press flat on his head, his mouth pulling back in a snarl whenever your male coworkers greet you— when soobin manages to get past his defenses and pulls you in a quick hug, you almost think you're about to witness a fight go down.

beomgyu's not above admitting to jealousy; he's done it so freely in the past, always coming to you with a pout and a plea to not let anyone get so close with you, to not let them "scent" you. no matter how many times you told him that your human friends don't do that, he insisted anyway.

when beomgyu had pulled you away from him, nails digging into your wrist, you tried to keep calm— you knew he'd take it the wrong way if you started scolding him to behave. you do, however, have to tell beomgyu to fix his face after seeing soobin get so nervous under beomgyu's intense gaze.

it was like setting off a ticking bomb— he'd already been on edge earlier, but you think this might've pushed him past his limits. as soobin continued to laugh and joke with you, he resigned to go sit at your table and watch from afar. and while you wanted to run to his side and make sure nothing was wrong, a part of you knew it was better to leave him alone.

puppy!beomgyu who proceeds to watch you for the rest of the dinner. quiet and calm, eerily so— his dark pupils following your every move, watching you go from person to person, a bright smile on your face and your movements so free and happy; if you had looked a little closer, you would've been able to pick up on the way he was burning with jealousy.

the car ride home is dead silent. even with the radio playing, it still feels like there's no noise at all. not compared to the way he'd been talking your ear off on the way there, rambling about how excited he was to finally meet your coworkers. when you glanced over at him, he turned his back to you, looking out the window instead. his tail thumped rhythmically against the leather seats.

he gets out the car as soon as you pull into the driveway; you try to scold him for doing so while the car is still moving, but the only response you get is the slam of a car door, and the sight of him stomping off into the house. you're sitting in the driveway for a good twenty minutes, wondering what you could possibly do to remedy the situation.

it was all just a matter of jealousy, wasn't it? maybe you hadn't done enough to prepare your puppy for all the new scents, the people, everyone approaching you— you should've known better than to throw beomgyu into such a situation.

when you finally go inside your house, it's quiet… it feels wrong, stepping in such a dark and still home, always used to the white noise of the television and beomgyu's absentminded humming. instead, the only light you find is that of your bedroom lamp bleeding into the hallway. you follow the source, ready to bow your head and apologize.

but when you push open the door to your room, you find something entirely different— puppy!beomgyu lifts his face from your pillow, tear stained and flushed, his hair ruffled and falling into his eyes. when his pupils meet yours, blown out and shiny, his hips rut faster into your other, folded pillow.

he's facing you, back arching as his mouth falls open, a broken little moan slipping from his throat. his face falls back on your pillow, and he hugs the other one tighter, drool pooling out his mouth as he thrusts deeper into the makeshift hole he's made— your eyes fall to his lower half, mouth drying at the way his tail jumps with pleasure and he cries out your name.

puppy!beomgyu who begins to cry after seeing you freeze at the doorway, brows pinching together and tears dotting his lashes as his whole body flushes with humiliation— yet, he can't bring himself to stop, and his whole body rocks as he keeps going.

"m'sorry…" he whimpers, "i just— i can't… i can't stop. m'sorry…"

your heart pounds against your chest as he continues to whine for you— his stare won't leave your face, hungry for every reaction as he continues to fuck your pillow, his eyes rolling back as he inhales the faint scent of your shampoo on the fabric he's stuffed his face into— when he finally pulls back, he takes a deep breath, his ears perking up as he catches your scent change.

"master…" he begs, "please, please come touch me— i need you, please…"

embarrassed, he buries his face back in your pillow, his whines muffled and the red tips of his ears poking out. you hear your name slip from his lips, and it's enough to have you moving forward.

puppy!beomgyu who you always thought was pretty— but right now, as you turn him over and he looks up at you with big empty eyes, you think this might be the best he's ever looked, his cheeks a light pink and his dark hair splayed like a halo around his head. when you rip the pillow from his lap, his cock bounces up and against his tummy, sticky tip leaving a trail of precum against his skin— his lashes flutter, sending you a dazed smile as he watches you undress.

your puppy has always been so noisy— so it shouldn't be a surprise to hear the way he whines and whimpers at the feeling of your cunt tightening around his cock, taking him all the way and grinding down until he's bottomed out inside you. all he can do is cry out how good you feel with teary eyes, grabbing at your hips and thrusting up to try and fuck you— you have to pin his hands above his head and scold him to sit still.

puppy!beomgyu who does just that; he does whatever you tell him to, moaning out your name and apologizing for his behavior, begging for your forgiveness while you continue to ride him, your breasts bouncing in front of his face only serving to drive him mad.

"do whatever you want to me— use me, please," he whines, "but only me— i want you to look at only me, miss."

pull his hair, bite his neck, slap his face when his hips jump and he tries to control the pace— he loves it all, and he doesn't even try to hide it. he'll cry for mercy whenever you slow down, holding off from letting him cum until his chest is flushed pink and his face is shiny with tears, calling you mean but still listening when you tell him to not cum yet.

he lets this go on as long as you want it to, letting you cum on his cock over and over again, eyes rolling back every time he feels you milking him, squeezing his length tight— but he holds off from doing the same, each quiet plea instantly shut down with a look. you let it go on until he finally breaks, his nails digging into his palms as he fights to not disobey your orders to not touch you, fresh tears spilling from his eyes.

"please miss, can i cum now?" he'll sniffle softly, blinking away tears, "i promise i'll be a good boy from now on, 'm sorry for overstepping, but please— i can't hold it anymore, please—!"

you can't deny your puppy— not when he begs so sweetly, staring up at you with starry eyes as you finally give him permission to let go; he throws his head back, body tensing and his hips stuttering against yours as he cums deep inside. it's so much, and all you can do is roll your hips against his, cooing out how well he did and helping him ride out his orgasm.

"so good, so so good— y'treat me so well master, thank you," he hiccups, his cock continuing to pump you full, "i'll be a good pup from now on, i— i promise…"

puppy!beomgyu who whines for you to stay on top of him, even after he's calmed down; who says with a shy smile that you smell like him now— and when you place a fond kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back and telling him how good he was for you, he gets hard again.

You’re failing chemistry.

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself at first. In all honesty, you still don’t want to admit it.

Because you pride yourself in being smart. In actually having a head on your shoulders. You’re a competitive cheerleader, the treasurer of your sorority, an honors student, and hell, you’re the student representative on the school board. You’re that guy that everyone knows vaguely for some reason, and you like to think that you’re well-liked amongst your social circles.

And somehow, despite all of your efforts, you’re failing chemistry.

General chemistry 1 was not a course you necessarily wanted to take. It was tedious, long lectures from a geriatric professor whose tenure needed to be challenged, and recitation periods with a jittery TA who clearly cared more about their Phd than how their students did in class. Which was fair, you suppose, but still didn’t make your life any easier. And the lab was no saving grace, with shitty rubrics that don’t actually tell you anything and a five page minimum procedure for every. Single. One. You were pretty sure you were going to tear your hair out at this point if the TA looked over your shoulder again and made a confused sound at what you were doing.

You’d try everything you could think of to pass this class on your own, but, much to your chagrin, you couldn’t take this class as a pass/fail course, because it was required for your major to graduate. Which meant the grade had to be good, or else it would tank your GPA into the depths of hell. You could say goodbye to your academic scholarships, and your spot on the cheer team (and your dignity).

In your time of need, halfway through the semester, you had given up, trudging across campus to the library and doing the walk of shame to the learning commons, which, of course, was at the far end of the first floor. You figured the only people who actually had to use the learning commons were idiots who didn’t actually try in their classes - the kind of desperate where you have to look your fellow students in the eyes and ask for not just help, but paid help. Plus, while you were a bit of a “nerd” yourself, the people that they usually hired for these positions had questionable hygiene on a good day. You shuddered, but trudged on, your shattered pride worth passing this god damn chemistry class.

There’s a mousy girl with a kind face sitting behind the front desk as you walk up, and she smiles at you as you approach. You realize with dread that she’s in the honors society with you, and you pray that she doesn’t recognize you.

“Hey, you!” she chirps, and you internally groan. “How can I help? Are you looking to become a tutor?”

You wince, shaking your head. “Unfortunately, no. General chemistry 1 is kicking my ass, and I can’t afford to fail it. Do you guys have any tutors who are free for that subject?”

“Oh, a million,” she responds, head bobbling as she nods, “Though some of them are, like, terrible. Let me try and hook you up with a good one.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you say, a grateful smile crossing your face, “I owe you big time.”

She waves you off with a laugh, scrolling through some sort of database on the ancient computer perched in front of her. The light in one of the private rooms behind her flickers, and you’re stuck fiddling with the zipper of your coat while she searches.

“Scale of 1 to 10, how piss-poor?” You quip back, and she laughs.

“You’d hate Minho-oppa, he’s actually kind of a jerk,” she starts, fingers slowing down, “But he’s smart. If you can deal with his piss-poor personality, you’ll learn a lot with him.”

“Oh, like a solid 8. If his students didn’t get excellent grades after working with him, I would’ve thrown a fit about keeping him on our team. But I don’t think he’s the perfect fit-aha!”

She practically jumps out of her seat, grinning at you from behind the desk. You raise an eyebrow and tilt your head, prompting her to go on.

“Jisung. You would love him. Super shy but very sweet, like, adorably so. He’s one of our newer ones but he got an A in gen. chem, looks like. Plus, he’s got a lot of availability!”

“Jisung,” you say, rolling the name in your mouth, “Okay. I’ll give him a shot. What do you need from me?”

She slides a form across the desk, and waves vaguely towards a cup of pens. You thank her quietly and fill it out quickly. It’s the usual nonsense - your name, your email, your phone number, your consent to be messaged and how the university isn’t liable for any trouble you have with your tutor - and you’re sliding the paper back to her. She types something on the computer, and then gives you a double thumbs-up and a bright grin.

“He’s been notified! You should be hearing from him soon. You let me know if he isn’t treating you right, and I’ll come after him.”

You laugh good naturedly, and give her a small nod. “I will. Thank you, seriously.”

The next morning, your phone buzzes in your pocket, an unknown number, and you can already tell that honors society girl was right about him being kind of adorable. He’s tripled texted you, and it’s both extremely formal and like he’s never talked to a person ever.

From: Unknown

>Hey there! This is Jisung, from the learning commons?>And hopefully you’re the person looking for general chemistry 1 tutoring!

>If you’re not then please ignore this. Or tell me actually so that I can get the right phone number!! That would be cool and awesome

You snort, already picturing what this guy looks like in your head. You save his contact as “Gen Chem” and text him back with one hand, letting him know when you’re available this week to hopefully meet.

You’re in a little bookstore/cafe right outside of campus three days later, right after the dinner rush has died down. The sun is just starting to slip past the horizon, casting a golden light in through the big windows at the front of the store, as you slip into the building. Jisung had let you know that he had already set up camp at one of the booths on the right. You glance back down at your messages, searching for a guy in a “pink hoodie and glasses” (very descriptive, Jisung) who looked like he was waiting for someone.

Your eyes land on someone tucked in the last booth, and oh. You're embarrassed by the way that heat immediately crawls up your neck, because he’s cute. Dangerously so, the kind of cute that makes you want to make some very bad decisions. His glasses are slipping down his nose and a little crooked, and his lower lip catches between his teeth as he types something on his computer, and suddenly, you’re thinking about how it would feel to be biting into his lower lip.

Focus, you think, shaking your head a little bit and willing your feet to carry you over to where he’s sitting. You slip your headphones off, shove your phone in your pocket, and shape your mouth into your friendliest smile, praying the heat of your ears can be blamed on the cold nip of autumn air you caught on your way over.

“Jisung, right?”

His head snaps up, and he looks at you like you’re not real. His mouth opens and closes uselessly a few times, his eyes flickering up and down a few times before landing back on your face. Your smile stretches a little wider, a little more genuine, and you speak again.

“Unless I’ve got the wrong cute guy in a pink hoodie and glasses.”

“C-cute? Uhm, no, right guy! That’s me. Hi, I’m Jisung. Hi.” He stammers out, shifting his computer and notebooks to make room for you to place your stuff down on the table. He knocks a pen off the table in his haste, and you try not to giggle at the way he winces, leaning down to pick it up. You slide in across from him easily, unzipping your bag and sliding out your laptop, ignoring the way your heart somersaults when his eyes find yours again.

“Hi,” you say, introducing yourself warmly, “I’ve never done anything like this before. What do you need from me so that you can help?”

You watch his nervous energy morph into something more defined, more controlled, as he slips into his tutor role. “Well, do you know what you’re struggling with? Because we can start with what you already know, or if you want, we can start from ground zero and rebuild. Sometimes people have the fundamentals wrong, and that’s what’s holding them back from understanding what’s happening now, y’know? I want this to be about you, not about me. We’ll build all the instruction around what you need and how you learn.”

The first session flies by easily, Jisung surprisingly professional once he’s slipped into tutor mode. He knows when you need him to slow down without you telling him, and there’s something about the way he describes things that make some of the confusion turn into something that might actually make sense.

It helps, too, that whenever he sees your face start to morph into understanding, or whenever you get a question right, he gives you a blinding grin, like he’s genuinely so happy that you’re learning from him. It’s so cute that you stumble over your words the first few times it happens, your fingers twitching as you imagine reaching across the table and pinching his squishy cheeks. He doesn’t seem to get why you stammer though, instead encouraging you by leaning in closer, murmuring little words of praise about how you’re “so close” or “on the right track”. He’s so sweet that you almost feel gross finding him cute, but also, you’re human, and you don’t think anyone else would be fairing any better than you are when they’re sitting across from Han Jisung.

You start seeing him around campus more now that you’ve met him. You see him tucked into the same worn booth at the student union every morning when you’re going to get your coffee, computer already open and an absurd amount of open notebooks sprawled across the table. You see him in your psychology lecture as you walk down to your seat in the lecture hall, and when he catches your eye, you make sure to give him a little wave and a smile. His contact name changes from “Gen Chem” to “Han Jisung” to just “Jisung”, and he’s pinned at the top of your messages before you even really realize it. You see him walking with the same boy all of the time, who you later find out during one of your sessions is his roommate, Minho, the tutor that the desk girl told you was “mean”. You relay this information and he laughs, warm and open, eyes crinkling in a way that makes you want to kiss where the skin bends and folds.

“Sounds about right,” he had responded, snorting and shaking his head, “I love my hyung, but he actually is kind of mean sometimes. He means it in a good way, though!”

Now, with finals right around the corner and a cheer competition somehow every single weekend, you were running on empty. You looked forward to your sessions with Jisung, but you could tell by the worried crease between his eyes that he could tell you were running on fumes at this point. He had even insisted that you don’t even pay him your last session, voice genuine and earnest.

“I don’t think you can really be mean in a ‘good way’, Sung,” you had responded, skeptical, “Though if he’s your friend, then he’s my friend too, I suppose. I’m not sorry that I chose you over him.”

“You chose me?” he had said, cheeks dusting pink, and you had to try to hide your flush when you told him yes.

“You’re not even awake enough to remember anything we talked about today,” he had reprimanded gently, “No use charging you if you didn’t actually learn. You need to learn a better sleep schedule.”

“Says you.”

“Hey!”

Things always ended up like that with Jisung. It was just so easy to talk to him, to be around him. He’s not what people would think your “type” would be, not the athletic, jock type who you could be arm candy for. You don’t quite know when he became your favorite person, but you know for a fact that he is. Your friends had started to notice the way your eyes would drift when you’d be walking around campus, looking for the familiar shape of him hunched over his computer or the way his too-big hoodies draped over his frame.

“Looking for someone?” your friend had asked you the other day, voice teasing.

“No.” you had responded defensively, and she had just sent you a look.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

You had huffed and diverted the conversation, but it stuck with you. You had been sure when you had seen Han, that your attraction to him was surface level, and it would stay as such. But the more time you spent with him, the more it stuck with you that this might actually be something real this time.

And that scared you shitless.

That’s why you were at this shitty party in the first place. It’s a Saturday night, your cheer team had gotten back ripe at 5 o’clock this very morning after a Friday night showcase, and you were ready to get plastered, throw yourself at the nearest semi-attractive guy, and pray that you don’t accidentally moan out Jisung’s name instead of his when you drag him into one of the empty bedrooms in this giant house.

You weren’t even sure who’s house this was, but whoever owned this place was loaded. A spiral staircase, a ridiculous chandelier, a loud rug in the main dining room (apparently there’s a second one, but you’ve yet to find it), and so much alcohol that the smell of it mixed with sweat almost made you nauseous. Had this been your first rodeo, it probably would have.

You’re wrapped up in something tiny, and while the walk up the winding road from the Uber had been freezing, the warmth radiating off of the sea of bodies in this opulent house was making the little number you had on well worth the twenty seconds of cold you had to endure. You like the way this outfit made you feel, and by the way you'd had more than a few appreciative eyes dragging over your body, you weren’t the only one who liked it. You press yourself into the makeshift dancefloor (complete with a shitty disco ball and all) and everything blurs together for a while. There’s lots of hands and bodies everywhere, and it takes you a while before you can even manage to keep yourself near enough to just one person to even consider who your target would be tonight.

The guy you’re making eyes at now, as the beat of the bass pulses through your veins, isn’t bad looking. In all honesty, you think he’s quite attractive - sharp cheekbones, pretty lips, hair somehow still looking soft despite being mixed with sweat - but for some reason, your body isn’t reacting. His eyes haven’t really looked at you, not really, too focused on the way the fabric of your too-short shirt stretches across the skin of your hips. It creeps up every time you twist just right, and you let yourself sink into the way he can’t look away when it does. And then his hands are on you, and he’s pulling you back, and you can feel the weight of his hard-on through his jeans, pressing right into the seam of your ass, and-

And you’re wrangling yourself out of his grasp, feet carrying you away before you can stop yourself.

Turn back, turn back, turn back turn back turn back! you scream at yourself internally, but that nauseous feeling is back in your stomach, and it has nothing to do with the two very tiny sips of alcohol you had out of your friend’s cup earlier. You pass her now as you press your way to the bathroom, certain that you’re going to throw up for some god forsaken reason - well, you know the reason, but you’re not willing to admit that to yourself just yet. Because you would never be able to let yourself live down the fact that you were feeling sick to your stomach because the boy you were grinding against on the dance floor wasn’t in a stupid baggy hoodie and dumb glasses, and didn’t have the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen-

You kick whatever couple was making out in there out of the bathroom, and they have the decency to look at least a little embarrassed at being walked in on. The sight of them makes you feel sick all over again, and you think the one sees it on their face, because they send you a slightly concerned look as they drag their partner off into the crowd by the wrist. You realize vaguely that this is the friend of one of the girls on the cheer team with you, that she could alert your friend of your rightfully concerning state, that she could be the downfall of your facade to hold it together.

No matter. You were alone now, in this huge bathroom that had two sinks, a tub, and a walk-in shower that was almost the size of your entire room. You take a look at yourself in the mirror and inhale, a quiet sound. Your eyes are wild, your hands are shaking, and your lower lip is swollen from how much you’ve been biting it. 

“Fuck, okay,” you murmur, taking a few deep inhales as you stare at yourself, “Get it together. Get it together, won’t you?”

You slap your cheeks twice, shake your head violently, and turn on your heel to leave the too-big bathroom that made you feel like you were suffocating. It was a shoebox and a mansion all at once, and you had to be out of it.

You duck and weave through bodies, feeling the splash of alcohol on your skin as a particularly drunk girl from your team tips her cup on your arm as she tries to say hello. You give her a tight-lipped smile and keep moving, legs carrying you all the way to the beautiful barn doors that lead to the back door. Your fingers come to slide it open, to escape, when you hear it.

The unmistakable sound of Han Jisung’s laugh, bright and loud. Everything else becomes white noise, a blur of greyness and nothingness, as you spun around to search for the source of it. You think for a moment that you’re really just so pathetic that you’re hallucinating him right now, but then as you complete a second full spin, your eyes catch him.

You know why you didn’t see him the first time - he’s wearing something that you’ve never seen him in before. He has a tight black shirt on, the way it stretches and ripples across his chest and biceps making it look like a compression shirt. His usual black sweatpants that he admitted hadn’t seen a washing machine in nearly two weeks had been replaced with a nice pair of washed jeans, a boring black belt slipped through the loops. His fingers are dancing on a red solo cup, which is filled way too high for a guy who looks like he’s been here since the party started. You catch the peek of what looks to be a tattoo peeking out the dip of the neck of his shirt, and your head spins again, but from something else, this time.

And suddenly he’s moving, striding over to you in clumsy little steps. He bumps into someone and you watch his mouth form a million apologies at once, head bowing and bobbing frantically as the other person waves him off. 

Because damn, how did you not know that Jisung had a sleeper build? If you were actually drunk you would have been literally drooling all over the place at seeing him like this. Even now, he still has that familiar shape of anxiety and nerves, his glasses still perched on the slope of his nose, and it makes you even more endeared to him. The first rush of genuine attraction slips into your veins without your permission, and you think about going outside again, about avoiding the center of the problem standing right in front of you, but you’re not fast enough, because Han’s eyes have already peeled away from whoever he’s talking to and found yours.

It’s like you short-circuited. You feel like a stupid teenager, the blush crawling down your cheeks and spreading into your neck at an incredibly more embarrassing speed than it ever has before. He smiles at you, all toothy and sweet, waving at you enthusiastically. You can barely kickstart your brain enough to get your hand to move and wave back, every movement feeling like you’re dragging your body through molasses.

“Hey!! Didn’t think I would see you here,” he says, nose crinkling as he grins in a way that makes you want to sink your teeth into him and bite, “Didn’t you have a competition?”

You catch the way his eyes slip off your face for a second, dropping down to the swell of your chest and the skin of your thighs peeking out below your shorts, the way it makes his eyes get a little hazy and his cheeks get a little pink. You’re so focused on his face, on watching him watch you, that you almost jump when his eyes jump back to yours, concern swirling in his irises.

“You okay? Hello, this is Han Jisung, calling from Earth-”

You let out a snort before you can choke it back, the sound dissolving into a helpless (and embarrassed) giggle. He gives you that sheepish, warm smile he always does, that little edge of disbelief still sitting in the shape of his face, like he’s surprised you think he’s funny.

“‘m fine,” you hum, leaning closer to him to ‘talk’ so that you can smell the faint cologne clinging to the collar of his shirt, “It’s just loud in here. A little overwhelming, you know? And comp was last night, we got back this morning.”

“And the first place you wanted to be was a shitty house party, of course,” he teases, eyes crinkling at the corners when you roll your eyes at him, “Seriously, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?”

“Shouldn’t a nerd like you be studying?” you bite back, though there’s no real venom in your tone. “Finals are coming up, you know.”

“Minho-” he nods his head back to the conversation he ditched, who is staring at the two of you with a kind of burning intensity you can’t place “-insisted I get out tonight. Said something about one last hurrah, and also threatened to air fry my textbooks so…I had no choice, really.”

“Mean in a good way,” you hum, sticking your tongue out at this Minho character, “I see the vision now.”

“Did you just-” he laughs, real and genuine, the kind of laugh that always made your whole body feel like it was made of bugs.

“He’s never going to let that go.”

“Good,” you say, though the thump of the bass picks up, and you’re barely able to hear your own voice anymore, “Gotta start off on the right foot.”

You can see him laugh, but you can’t really hear it anymore, all of the sound in the room swirling into some sort of evil cacophony. Han must catch the way you wince, because he lights up, grabbing your wrist without a second thought and dragging you off towards the insane spiral staircase. He yells something back to you, drink sloshing in his hand, but you’re too distracted by the noise of the room (and the way that the punch is trickling over his long, thick fingers) to actually hear whatever he was trying to tell you.

The two of you trip up the stairs, bumping into couples pressed against the banister and people just trying to get away from some of the sound. You think you apologize, but everything is fuzzy, the only thing in focus is the stupid cute boy in front of you, whose fingers feel warm and nice against your wrist. He takes a sharp left at the top of the stairs, then a sharp right, and then he’s pulling open doors and guiding you up another set of stairs, and by the time you get to wherever he’s taking you, you’re lost.

“Ta-da!” he says triumphantly, pulling you into something that looks like a bedroom.

You just raise an eyebrow at him, and he pouts, letting you go to bolt off further into the room. You slip into the room fully, sliding the door closed behind you gently as you take in the room you’re in.

You peek your head out the window to find an expanse of strangely flat roof, and an extremely proud looking Jisung perched on it.

It’s yet another opulent room, the kind that looks like no one’s touched it in years but a maid, complete with a giant queen sized canopy bed and a bookshelf full of books that look like they might turn to dust if you touch them.

“C’mere!” you hear Jisung call out, and your eyes are drawn to the window in front of you, curtains now billowing, and you realize with startling clarity that Jisung must have climbed out the window, because he’s no longer in the room with you. His voice is a little muffled, but you’re drawn to it anyways. 

“Found such a cool spot earlier,” he says, starting to ramble, “And I thought of you right away-I mean-I thought you would like it! Yeah, because you talked about it once. Wanting to see the stars, I mean. You said you wanted to go stargazing? And I know this party isn’t ideal, but uh-well…I just thought maybe you’d still want to see? With me? If that’s okay??”

You’ve climbed your way out the window by the time he stops rambling, cheeks flushed and glasses slipping down his nose as he looks at you with those big boba eyes of his. Well, looks past you - he can’t seem to make eye contact with you right now, not after his little outburst. In a moment of boldness and perhaps stupidity, you reach out and press a finger to the bridge of his glasses, sliding them back up into place for him. He gawks at you, hand clenching and unclenching at his side, and you have to pretend like you don’t want to jump his bones right this instant as you slide to sit on the roof next to him.

Neither of you say anything for a moment. You’re lost in the way the moonlight makes him look like he’s glowing, in the way he can’t seem to stop himself from looking at you back. You’re close - too close, shoulders brushing and breath mixing together between you. You will yourself to say something, to say anything, but the words get caught in your throat, stuck and tangled there. You feel sick again, but not like you did before. You think the only cure to the swirling in your gut would be to feel Jisung’s lips against yours.

He makes a choked sound in his throat when you lean closer, your eyes dropping to his lips and then dragging up the flush of his cheeks and the curve of his nose to meet his eyes again. His lower lip catches between his teeth, and your tongue flicks out subconsciously, licking your lips as you watch him.

“Can I?” you hum, the way your voice breaks giving away your desperation.

He nods once, solemnly, shiny eyes pleading you to close the gap. His fingers tentatively dance across the cold roof below you, until they’re brushing against yours. You close the gap, sliding your hand on top of his, and lean in again, closer and closer. You stop just short of his lips, noses brushing. You can faintly smell the dull edge of alcohol on his breath and sweat on his skin, mixed with the hint of that dull cologne you caught earlier, but you don’t press in yet, revelling in the way his eyes slipped closed already.

“Words, Sungie.” You murmur, and he shivers when the breath of your words brushes his skin.

“Please.”

That’s all the confirmation you need to close the gap, and god, it’s everything you ever wanted. Out here, under the glow of the stars dotting the sky, there was nothing but the two of you. His lips are nervous against yours, his hand twitching under yours when you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. He whimpers and it makes you press closer to him, knee brushing his. You only pull away from him to part for air, a quick inhale just to satiate your screaming lungs before you dive back in to kiss him senseless all over again.

He tastes like the shitty punch downstairs and the hint of something sweet, the lip balm on his lips tasting faintly of strawberries when you sweep your tongue across it. The longer you kiss, the more confident he seems to get against you, nerves melting into something needier as he presses back into you with just as much fervour as you’re giving him. When your tongue comes to swipe at his lips again he lets them part, lets your tongue explore the expanse of his mouth and tangle with his tongue. His tongue peeks into your mouth, experimental, and you let him guide the kiss. He’s not good, necessarily, movements clunky and nervous, but he’s so eager that it sends a spike of heat through you anyways, warmth pooling in your abdomen. You can feel the way your arousal is starting to seep out of you, the way your underwear starts to feel a little damp through your tiny shorts.

When the two of you pull away from each other you’re sure you’re a mess. Your lips feel swollen and raw, and your skin feels like it's on fire, despite the nip of cold air on the roof. 

“Wow.” He says, breathless, the word tumbling out of his mouth without his permission.

You just lean forward to press your forehead to his, equally breathless, a swirl of emotions you aren’t willing to name yet sitting heavy in your stomach. He leans in too, and for a moment, the two of you just sit there, pressed against each other under the stars. Your fingers are still warm on top of his, and you squeeze, just once, and he presses a little harder into you. 

You pull away only to look at  him, studying his face quietly in the glow of the aftermath. He won’t really look at you, eyes searching the area around your face but never looking right at you. You bring your free hand up to grab at his chin gently, guiding his face to look at you.

“God, you’re perfect,” you say, words slipping out before your brain can stop them, “Thank you.”

“Thank-thank me?” He looks at you, incredulous. “You just-you-I can’t even form sentences right now! You’re so-” he motions wildly with his hands, eyes wide and glassy “-you know?”

“Right,” you say, a laughing edge to your tone, “And I’ll take being-” you let go of his face to mimic his motions “-if you keep being perfect.”

He flushes a pretty pink, mouth curling at the corners into a shy sort of smile. You lean forward to kiss it, a quick, chaste kiss to each corner before you press a longer, lingering kiss right to the center of his mouth. He leans in as you lean away, chasing your mouth, until he’s swallowed your lips in another kiss. He kisses you like he can’t believe you’re real, like you might just disappear if he lets you get away from him for even a second. The kisses twist into something hot again, desperation lingering in every swipe of the tongue and scrape of teeth, and you force yourself to pull away before you start pawing at his pants out here in the open.

“Not out here,” you pant out, lips red and glossy from a mix of his spit and yours, “Back inside?”

“You want-with me?” You send him a look, and he scrambles up, nodding. “Okay. Okay. Inside. Yeah, let’s-here, I’ll go in first, help you through! I’m a real gentleman, you know-”

“Yeah?” You cut him off before his cute rambling makes you leak through your shorts, too, “Do all the ladies call you that?”

“Hopefully uhm-hopefully just you!” He squeaks out, before practically catapulting himself back into the house through the window.

You hear a faint “ow!” followed by the shuffle of limbs, and Jisung is peeking back out the window at you, glasses skewed on his face and hair a little messier than before. You do your best not to laugh at him and accept the hand that he offers you, slipping back into the room with far more grace and ease than he did.

The air is thick with words unspoken, with what ifs and maybes that you don’t think you’re ready to address yet. Instead, you slip your top off, tossing it onto the thick armchair in the corner of the giant room (who needs an armchair in their bedroom??). Han visibly short circuits, mouth agape and opening and closing uselessly as he drinks you in. His eyes are greedy, dragging over every square inch of your exposed skin until you’re shifting in place, nervous.

“You too,” you say, sudden shyness clinging to the edges of your words, “I want to see you.”

“I-you-okay!” He squeaks, yanking the hem of his shirt out of where it’s tucked into his jeans.

He clumsily pulls the top over his head, the collar catching his glasses and leaving them dangling off one of his ears. He tosses his shirt to sit with yours on the armchair, and when he goes to take off his glasses, you glide over, grabbing his wrist and stopping him.

“Leave them on.”

You don’t elaborate, and he doesn’t need you to. The way his ears burn red and his mouth parts into a little ‘o’ tells you all you need to know. You let your fingers brush his cheek as you use both hands to fix the glasses on his face, letting out a content hum when they’re sitting on his nose just right again.

You watch his face as you let your hands drop from his face, fingers splaying across his broad shoulders. When he whimpers, high and needy and in the back of his throat, as your touch gets firmer, more explorative, you let yourself continue your path downwards. The muscles under his skin are solid, tensing and rippling when he shifts to press into your touch. The room is quiet, sans the sound of your breathing and his little noises when you brush a sensitive patch of skin. The junction where shoulder meets neck is particularly sensitive, and you make sure to run a light touch over that spot just to watch him jump and whine.

Of all the people you would have expected to have secret tattoos, Han Jisung was not one of them, but you’re damn grateful he has them. The piece that spreads out in dark ink across his upper right chest and shoulder is calling your name, and you first let your fingers drag across it before leaning forward and tracing the lettering with your tongue. His head falls back when your tongue makes contact with his skin, but his eyes stay open, laser-focused on your every move. His hands still hang uselessly by his side, digging into the fabric of his jeans when your teasing touch is just a bit too much.

“When did you get these?” you say against his skin, the hum of your voice in his body sending a jolt of heat through him.

He tries to answer, he really does, but when one of your hands drops and starts tracing the letters that run up his side, it’s like he’s forgotten how to. A mix between a moan and a choked word tumbles out of his mouth when you let your nails lightly drag over it, goosebumps raising on his skin everywhere you touch.

You pinch his side and bite right into the compass on his chest, faux glaring up at him. “C’mon, Ji, when’d you get these?”

“I don’t-hrk! Don’t remember,” he huffs out, head lolling, “Maybe, maybe five or-hah-five or s-six months-oooh, sh-shit-ago?”

“Y-yeah? You think so?” He says, heat dusting his neck and upper chest a light pink.

You hum appreciatively against his skin.

“Looks good on you,” you say, pressing a kind kiss to the place you bit, which now holds the indents of your teeth on it, “Makes you even hotter.”

You hum again, an affirmative sound, before your fingers teasing the tattoo on his side slide to his belt buckle. You don’t fiddle with it yet, just let your fingers rest there, sending him a questioning look.

“Can I?”

“Yeah, yeah, yes, of course?? Duh?? Go ahead, do whatever you want, you’re so unreal-mmph!”

You cut him off with an amused kiss, a little disappointed in yourself that you’re somehow even more turned on by his rambling, but you let it slide. Your fingers focus on undoing his belt for now, the buckle clinking gently as you wrestle it open. You don’t even bother pulling it from the belt loops, instead undoing the button at the top of his jeans and unzipping his fly. His hips buck up into your touch, barely there enough to have brushed where he needs you the most but enough for him to long for it. He whines when you pull away from him, eyes searching your face as you take a step back.

“Take those off and meet me on the bed, won’t you?” You say, a cool dominance sinking into your tone.

It’s not usually your style to take control like this, but there’s something very intoxicating and tempting about the idea of guiding Jisung through it, bending him to your whims and wants. He’s just so pliable, following your every direction like it’s gospel.

He nods frantically, mumbling something quietly to himself that almost sounds a little like a motivational speech to himself. You turn and slide yourself out of your too-small shorts and your underwear in one swoop, wincing when a sticky trail of arousal smears down your leg as you do. You don’t look back at him, partially because you already know he’s going to follow you, but also because you know whatever control you’re holding right now is going to break the second you get a good look at him, flushed and naked and ready for you.

You climb up onto the canopy bed with ease, wincing when a thin layer of dust puffs into the air when your weight sinks into it. You suppose it’s for the best that no one uses this bed after what the two of you are going to do on it, but it still makes you cough a little as you breathe it in.

Ignoring the scratch of the dust in your airways, you slide up until you’re on your back near the headboard, head pressed into the pillows at the top of the bed. Your hair splays out across the silky pillowcases, and only now do you allow yourself a proper look at Jisung. And you’re very glad you waited until you were seated, because you’re quite certain that your knees would’ve given out if you’d seen him still standing. Another gush of arousal seeps out of you, and your thighs try to twitch closed on their own.

He looks so good in the moonlight, all sharp edges and muscle. You don’t know how he ever hid himself from you before, the tension of skin over firm muscle hard to miss as he stumbles over to the bed. Between his legs lies his straining erection, bobbing with every step he takes, red and flushed and leaking almost as much as you are. You would be embarrassed for him if it wasn’t so hot to see how desperate he was for you. He wasn’t particularly long or thick, sitting somewhere in that average range, but the way it curved just slightly upwards made you drool a bit, knowing that he’s going to hit that sweet spot inside of you perfectly. 

He hovers near the side of the bed hesitantly, fingers stretching through the air to reach towards you but stopping, hovering like he needed your permission to even touch. If you were less desperate yourself you might make him beg, but the idea of waiting any longer to have him on you wasn’t all that appealing, not when you’ve been picturing this moment in your head for the past few months.

“C’mere,” you motion, legs spreading wide to make room for him, “Need you, Sungie. Need you.”

You make sure to whine out the last word, dragging out the vowel in a way that had him biting his lip and dragging himself onto the mattress with you. He settles between your legs, fingers just brushing the skin of your hips, before he looks up at you again for permission. You huff, exasperated with his hesitance, linking your legs behind his back and dragging him forward until his arousal is pressed right against yours. The contact is so delicious that it has you throwing your head back and him falling forward, hands coming to catch himself on either side of your head. His glasses are getting foggy around the edges now, the humidity of sweat and sex in the air enough to blur the glass. He lets out what you could only describe as a wail, hips rutting against you uncontrollably as he seeks more of that delicious friction.

His precum smears and mixes with yours, a hot mess coating both your entrance and his dick with the mixture of your arousals. He thinks this might just be how he dies, pressed against you in some random guy’s house. He thanks the lucky stars that Minho dragged him out here tonight as his tip catches the ring of your entrance, making both of you moan. The sound echoes off the walls, and your mouth falls open again when he presses down with more force, the pressure too much and somehow not enough.

“Sungie. Kiss me?” You moan out, hips bucking up to glide the two of you together.

He kisses you so hard your teeth clack together, but neither of you can care, not when everything feels so good, the thrum of pleasure burning hot through both of your veins. He’s loud, louder than you, and you try and swallow his sounds as best as you can. Not that anyone would find you out here, in this secluded corner of the house, but a sick little part of you wants these sounds to be yours and yours alone. Whatever this is will happen again - you’re going to make sure of it - and while you’re not ready to say it just yet, you want to be his just as much as you want him to be yours.

“Please, please, jagiya, can I? Can-hic! Can I put it in, please?” Jisung whines against your mouth, pace getting inconsistent as he ruts against you like an animal. 

You nod against him, foreheads pressing together as he looks down, trying to guide the buck of his hips to slip his cock into your waiting entrance. But everything’s too wet, the mess of your arousals making everything too slippery, and Jisung whines, bucking more frantically now.

You let out a broken sound when his tip catches your entrance and shlicks back up, your tightness too much for his cock to slide in without some guidance. And you want to be patient, to let him try, but you can’t do it anymore. You need him so bad that every bit of your judgement is clouded, the only conscious drive left in your brain telling you that you needed his cock to stretch you open now.

Your legs lock around him once again, and before he can even open his mouth to question you, you’re using your body weight to throw him sideways, effectively flipping your positions. You land on top of him, arousal pressed directly on top of his aching cock in a way that has his hips arching off the bed into you.

You lift your own hips just enough to reach a hand down to grab at his member, guiding his tip to your entrance. You hold the base as you sink, slow and teasingly at first, entrance only swallowing the tip. You hover there for a moment, only the fat head of his cock inside of you, and let your walls flutter around him, revelling in the way it makes his head fall back and his mouth fall open.

“Jagiya.” He sobs, and then your name, and then useless babbles when you slam down, taking him all the way to the base.

It knocks the air out of you, the curve of him pressing directly into that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Your vision spins for a second, fireworks exploding behind your eyes, and you have to press a hand to his chest to steady yourself. The muscle under your fingers twitch, and you can feel the rapid drum of his heartbeat against your fingertips, making you clench down around him.

“Ohmygod,” he sobs, eyes rolling back, cock twitching and swelling inside of you, “You feel-oh my god. I can’t-can’t, I’m gonna. Can I? Please please please, can I?”

“Already?” you tease, though the breathiness in your voice reveals just how close you already feel, too. “As long as you let me keep using you-ooooh, fuck-using you to get off, you can come whenever you want. Wanna feel you filling me up nice and full.”

He hiccups at that, glasses fully foggy on his face now, barely sitting on the tip of his nose. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, and his fingers are digging into the sheets below you with so much strength you fear they might rip. While you sit for a moment and adjust to the way he stretches you open, you lift your hand off his chest and use both hands to guide his to sit on the meat of your hips. They don’t do anything at first, just rest, warm and hot against your skin, but when you clench again, they dig deep into your skin, hard enough that you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow.

The idea of his mark on your skin makes you giddy, and it’s what gets you to start bouncing, slowly at first, letting him really feel the slide of your walls around him. He groans, the sound tearing out of him from somewhere deep and low in his chest, almost animalistic. You’re already feeling the coil inside of you starting to wind tight, so worked up already from all of the build-up that you’re not sure you’re going to last long enough to really use him after his orgasm.

That’s what you thought, but with a silent scream, Jisung is coming, warm spurts of cum filling you up. He comes so much, still twitching and leaking into you as you continue your pace, desperate to get yourself off now, too.

“It’s too much,” he sobs, hiccuping and digging his fingers into your hips to try and pry you off of his sensitive cock, “Too much! Can’t, I can’t, it hurts, please-”

“You told me-hngh-you told me you could take it,” you respond, hips picking up their pace, his arms too weak right now to get you off of him, “So you’re going to. I’m gonna come all around your cock, okay? So take it like a good boy, fuck, that’s it, that’s-hah-that’s the spot. Just-hrk! Jus’ sit still and look pretty, there you go jagi.”

You shut up before your words become totally incoherent, simply letting your pleasure morph into whimpers and moans as you roll your hips in a circle, dragging his cock, still hard inside of you (you’re not sure he ever went down), against that spot inside of you again and again and again. This is no longer about him, about the two of you, it’s about using him like a human dildo and getting yourself off.

There’s fat tears rolling down his cheeks now, drool slipping out the corner of his swollen lips, and you reach a thumb up to wipe away the tears, cooing when his head tilts to press into your touch. The way his whole body just gives in to you, his willingness to let you keep pushing him past overstimulation, is enough to make you tip over the edge.

“I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come, Jisung!”

With a shout of his name on your tongue you let go, gushing around his length and soaking his dick and his thighs with your come. His eyes roll back as you do, and if you were any more present in the moment, you would feel the weak twitch of him inside of you as he comes a second time. You think you black out for a second, falling forward to press your face into the curve of his shoulder. You sink your teeth in as your high rolls through you, the shockwaves almost too much, as he grinds up into you to work you through it. You’re everywhere and nowhere all at once, until the sting of overstimulation starts to creep up your spine and you have to press his hips into the bed with your weight to keep him from continuing.

You slide off of him, both of you hissing as his soft cock slides out of you, along with a slick mixture of both of your cum. Your legs feel like jello, and it takes far more effort than you would like to admit to lie down next to him. He rolls over into you once you do, shifting so that his face presses into your chest. Your arms come to drape around him automatically, one hand reaching to run through his hair and the other running soothing circles into his back.

“Thank you.” He says, after a while of comfortable silence. “For this, I mean. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” you huff, poking at the muscles in his back, “You’re not some charity case.”

“Well I’m me, and you’re, well…you’re you,” he says, like that explains everything, “I don’t-guys like me don’t get chances with people like you.”

“What, hot, sexy nerds who have a good dick game don’t want to sleep with people like me? I see how it is.” You tease, though there’s a sharp edge to your words. “Be so for real, Sungie. I should be thanking you.”

He buries his face into your chest, mumbling something about how “unfair” you are, and you just laugh, bending your head to press a kiss to the crown of his head.

“We should probably get moving,” you say, trying to break the tension that’s building in your chest, “I’m not sleeping in this freak ass house. I can’t do it.”

“We can go back to mine!” Jisung offers, and then flushes when your head snaps to look at him, “I mean. If you want to? Minho and I have separate rooms, and oh my god, this was just a hook up, wasn’t it?? Sorry, you uh-I can just-”

He detangles himself from you, trying to slide off the mattress, avoiding eye contact with you as he continues to ramble, so quietly that you can’t actually hear what he’s saying.

“Jisung.” you say, firm and sharp, grabbing his wrist before he can get any further.

He glances back at you, the hint of something hopeful in his eyes.

“I’d love to.”

And if you stick your tongue out at Minho again as the two of you limp out of the party, well, no one would be the wiser.

hoonieyun notes: happy birthday to enhypen's babie riki <333

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ❤︎ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @firstclassjaylee @kristynaaah @17ericas @heeseung64 @leipforggy @s1rawb3rry @ddeonuswife @orxngebloods @xylatox @saccharinezennie @yooonjnng @lookingforsnacks @smollbean42905 @intromortal @taesnumber1 @noirxraa @ikeu05 @delma-x @ardlolic

 You’ve been hunched here for hours, neck stiff, highlighter caps scattered like casualties across your notes. Your eyes ache from the constant flicker of the screen, from lines of text that blur together if you stare too long. You stretch, spine arching until it pops, and let your head tip back to stare at the ceiling. It’s late, past midnight, though the night outside feels older somehow, the air outside your window still and heavy. You should be tired. Instead, you’re restless, your skin prickling with an energy that has nothing to do with stress or caffeine. It’s a quiet ache that’s been prowling at the edges of your focus all night, creeping in whenever you pause too long between flashcards. Sexual frustration. Need.  

You try to ignore it, tapping the end of your pen against the desk, but your gaze drifts, to your phone, sitting just within reach. Your fingers close around it before you can talk yourself out of it, and muscle memory takes over. One swipe, two taps, and you’re staring at the name you always reach for when you feel like this. When you need a quick orgasm to get you through the night and into the next day. 

You - 

You free? 

You hit send before you can second-guess it, thumb lingering on the glass for a moment like you might will the response into appearing faster. In the meantime, you push away from the desk, the chair squealing faintly on the floor. Your body feels coiled, impatient, and you catch yourself glancing toward the bathroom door. The impulse blooms too fast to smother. You snag your phone and pad across the room, pushing the bathroom door open with your hip. The overhead light floods the small space in soft gold, bouncing off the mirror, warming your bare skin where your pajama shorts leave your thighs exposed. 

You pause in front of the sink, catching your own reflection, hair messy from hours of studying, lips parted like your body already knows what it’s about to ask for. Slowly, you hook your thumbs into the hem of your oversized t-shirt and lift it over your head, the fabric skimming up your skin before you drop it to the floor. 

The cool air hits you, making your nipples pebble instantly, and you glance at yourself again, tilting your chin, angling your body. The phone feels heavier in your hand as you swipe open the camera. You’ve done this before, you know how to play with shadows, how to let the curve of your waist or the arch of your back do half the talking. The first photo is teasing, just the slope of your collarbone and the swell of your breasts. The second is less subtle, fingers trailing down your stomach, thumb hooked dangerously low. The last is the filthiest, a bold, brazen shot that makes heat flare in your cheeks even though you’ve taken dozens like it before.

You send the best of the batch, screen going black for a beat as you lower your arm. By the time you’re sliding your underwear down your thighs, the phone buzzes.

Heeseung - 

God, you’re killing me. 

Another buzz follows instantly. 

I really, really, really wish I could come over right now. 

You lean against the counter, already smiling to yourself, thumbs moving fast. 

You - 

Then do it. 

The typing dots flicker, disappear, flicker again. 

Heeseung - 

I can’t. The guys are over — movie night. 

Your smile falters. Of course, this was just your luck. 

You - 

Lame excuse. Don’t you want to cum tonight? ;) 

Heeseung -

Fuck. of course i would. I’d much rather be with you tonight. 

You groan, head tipping back against the mirror, hair catching slightly against the glass. Still hot, still bothered and very much in need of some attention. 

You - 

Then ditch them. 

You watch the dots appear, vanish. And then, instead of words, your phone lights up with a photo, dim lighting, familiar grey sweats tugged just low enough to make your breath catch. The outline beneath the fabric is thick and shameless, and you know he sent it just to make you squirm. The caption is a single winking emoji. God damnit, he sent a dick pic, a fucking dick pic when you’re feeling like this? And he can’t even bother to help you. 

Heeseung - 

Have fun flying solo tonight.

 A hot rush floods you, equal parts frustration and want. You toss the phone onto the counter, the image still seared into your vision. The quiet of your dorm suddenly feels too loud, your pulse loudest of all. You don’t want to be flying solo tonight. You want him, his weight pinning you down, his hands framing your hips, the low sound he makes when you pull at his hair. Instead, you’re left in this restless sprawl of heat, skin too hot and breath uneven. You push away from the counter, padding barefoot back into your room. 

The bed welcomes you with its cool sheets, but it’s no comfort. You flop onto your back, staring at the ceiling, trying to will the ache out of your body. You fail spectacularly. The stillness of your room doesn’t last long. You’re sprawled there on your back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your own frustration pressing down on you, when the thought strikes, if you’re going to take the edge off, you might as well make it worth your while. The idea blooms in your chest like a spark catching, that low, familiar thrill warming you from the inside out. 

You slide out of bed, padding over to your dresser. The top drawer is a mess of lace and silk, a curated little collection of gifts and indulgences, each one carrying a memory or a name in the back of your mind. Your fingers trail over them until you land on the one you’ve been saving,  a delicate pink lingerie set, almost sheer, with tiny satin bows where the straps meet the cups. One of your most loyal subscribers had sent it to you weeks ago, along with a note you’d read too many times to admit. The mirror catches you as you slip it on, the way the soft pink pops against your skin, the way the fabric hugs your curves just enough to make you smirk at your own reflection. You tug the straps into place, smooth your hands down your sides, and feel that quiet confidence settle over you like armor. 

Your toys are tucked away neatly in a box beneath your bed, the kind of organization that only comes from needing to grab them quickly. You set them on the nightstand, your favorites, familiar in your hands, before pulling your tripod closer. The camera’s red standby light blinks up at you as you adjust the angle, making sure it cuts off at your collarbones. No face, no name, nothing to give away the girl behind the show. Just soft lighting, lingerie, and a body they’ve been paying to worship. You perch at the edge of your bed, the camera focused on you, and hit Go Live. 

The chat box starts slow, a few greetings from usernames you know by heart, a handful of new ones testing the waters. You lower your voice into that honeyed register you’ve perfected, the one that makes people lean closer to their screens. "Hey, boys… and girls," you purr, letting the words slide out lazily. "You’re late tonight. I was starting without you." Comments flood in, requests and compliments scrolling too fast to read them all. You let your hand trail down your thigh, just a ghost of a touch, and hum softly. You’re in no rush. The teasing is part of the game, light pressure, nothing more, letting anticipation build while the viewer count ticks upward.

Then it comes, the sound that always makes your pulse jump. ParkShoon has tipped $100.

Your most loyal subscriber. Always early, always generous. And always making requests that push just enough without stepping over your lines. You smile without meaning to, leaning closer to the mic. "Mmm… thank you, Shoon," you murmur, your tone thick with suggestion. "What should I do for you tonight?"

The chat pauses for a beat, like everyone’s waiting for him. Then his reply appears. 

ParkShoon: Turn it on. You know which one. Your gaze flicks to the toy on the nightstand, your favorite. Sleek, familiar, the one that never fails you. You pick it up, letting the camera catch just enough of the motion without revealing too much.

"You always know what you want, don’t you?" you tease, thumb hovering over the button. The vibration hums to life in your hand, and you draw in a slow breath, the sound slipping out just for them.

ParkShoon: More pressure.

You bite your lip, shifting so the camera catches the curve of your thigh, the slow press of the toy exactly where he’s asked for it. The hum deepens in the quiet of your room, mingling with the low, involuntary sounds you let slip. The comments explode, some begging for the same, others just sending strings of dollar signs and heart emojis. "Just for you, Shoon," you whisper, applying more pressure, your back arching slightly as you obey. The heat is immediate, coiling low in your stomach, and you let your head tip back, eyes fluttering shut. 

The requests come faster now, not just from him, but from everyone, and you ride the line carefully, keeping the pace slow but the tension thick. Every move is deliberate, every sound calculated to keep them wanting, keep them tipping. Shoon’s next message makes your pulse stutter. ParkShoon: Don’t stop. I want to hear you lose it.

You glance at the camera, your lips curling in a slow, knowing smile, the kind that promises you just might. Your fingers curl around the toy, the vibration buzzing through your palm, steady and insistent. You settle back on the bed, letting your knees fall open, the camera catching the angle you’ve set up a hundred times before, your legs, your hips, the delicate lace of the lingerie clinging to damp skin. "Mmm…" You draw the sound out, low and velvety, dragging the toy over the lace, teasing yourself as much as them. "Shoon, you always make me start too fast… you’re so impatient tonight."

The chat lights up, don’t make him wait, give us more, fuck, you’re gorgeous. You laugh softly, a breathy little sound, and angle the toy lower, pressing it more firmly against yourself. The lace muffles the sensation at first, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. ParkShoon: Lose the panties.

"Just like that? No please?" you murmur, voice dripping with mock scolding. You hook your thumbs into the waistband, tugging them slowly down your thighs, letting the camera catch every inch of bare skin. The air is cool where the fabric was, and it makes you shiver. You toss them aside with a flick of your wrist. "Better?" The tip notification pings again; another $150.

"Mmm… that’s what I thought." You touch yourself lightly at first, the toy tracing lazy circles that make your hips twitch. Your free hand slips down to part yourself, opening up for the camera as your breath turns uneven. You keep your voice low, like you’re whispering secrets meant only for the ones watching. "God, you don’t even know what you do to me, Shoon…" you breathe, pressing the toy harder now, the vibrations sending jolts up your spine. "If you were here right now, I’d let you touch me… maybe even taste me. But since you’re not—" your words break on a gasp as you push the toy against your clit, "—you’re just going to have to watch."

The comments scroll so fast you can barely see them, a flood of begging, praise, and crude promises. Shoon’s username stays anchored at the top, his tips pushing him there.

ParkShoon: More. I want to see you fall apart. You bite your lip, grinding against the toy, your thighs trembling as you chase the edge without letting yourself fall. The pressure is maddening, every nerve lit up, your pulse pounding in your ears. 

"You want me to come for you, Shoon? Right here? In front of all of them?" Your voice has gone breathless, ragged in a way you can’t fake. 

ParkShoon: Yes. Now. "Mmm… bossy." You laugh softly, but it’s cut off by another gasp as you push yourself harder, faster, the sound of the toy filling the quiet between your moans. Your head tips back, eyes fluttering shut, the muscles in your stomach tightening as you edge closer.

"God, I wish you could feel this…" you pant, every word a struggle to get out. "The way I’m dripping… how wet you make me…" The tips come in a frenzy now, the sound of them stacking over and over, each one a tiny push toward the point of no return. You’re right there, the tension wound so tight it’s almost painful, And then you gasp his name. "Shoon—"

The chat goes wild, but you’re barely aware of it. The pleasure crashes over you, shaking your body as you ride it out, grinding through the aftershocks, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. You collapse back onto the bed, toy slipping from your fingers, chest rising and falling rapidly. For a moment, all you can hear is your own breathing and the faint hum still coming from the toy beside you. 

"God… you’re so bad for me," you whisper, your lips curling into a lazy, satisfied smile as you glance toward the camera. "But you’re my favorite." The stream’s chat is still exploding, hearts and tips rolling in even as you hover your finger over the End Live button. You sign off with one last soft, "Goodnight, boys…" before the feed cuts to black.

The campus is alive with its usual morning chaos, students rushing past with coffee cups in hand, the air smelling faintly of espresso and wet pavement from last night’s rain. You’ve got your headphones in, head down, mind already half on the lecture you’re walking toward, when a sudden arm snakes around your waist. You jolt hard enough to stumble. "Jesus—" you start, tugging an earbud out, but then you catch the familiar smirk in your peripheral and your irritation fades into something else entirely. 

It’s Heeseung, of course. "Relax, princess," he murmurs, his voice low enough that it’s just for you. He’s grinning, that lazy, infuriating grin that’s all sharp edges and charm. His roommate, tall, quiet, and vaguely familiar, is trailing a step behind him. You squint, brain shuffling through names. Sanghan? Sangh… oh, right. Sunghoon.

"You trying to give me a heart attack?" you mutter, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as the three of you fall into step. "Nah." His gaze flicks briefly to the walkway ahead, then back to you, and when he leans in this time, his voice drops even further, warm breath brushing your ear. "Just wanted to tell you… I loved how you looked last night. In those photos."

Your mouth curves before you can stop it, heat flickering in your chest at the memory. "Of course you did." You angle him a sideways look, letting your tone drip with mock arrogance. "I aim to please."

He chuckles, deep and low, eyes glinting like he’s replaying those same images in his head. "You more than please, sweetheart." You glance ahead, catching Sunghoon’s profile for a split second. He’s looking anywhere but at you, shoulders tense, expression unreadable. 

"You’re awfully confident for someone who left me high and dry," you murmur, not letting him off the hook entirely.

Heeseung’s grin turns wolfish. "You were fine without me." He pauses, his hand still resting at your waist, thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your shirt. "But… I could make it up to you tonight. My place. Little Netflix, little chill."

You laugh, tilting your head so your hair brushes his arm. "You mean that thing where we put on a movie neither of us watches and I end up riding you on your couch until your neighbors complain?"

"Exactly that thing."

"Tempting."

"Tempting enough to say yes?"

You let the silence stretch just long enough to make him raise an eyebrow. Then you smile, slow, sly, the kind of smile that’s an answer in itself. "Text me the time." Heeseung smirks, satisfied, and drops his hand as the entrance to your building comes into view. Through all of this, Sunghoon hasn’t said a word. He’s kept pace a few steps behind, quiet as a shadow, gaze fixed somewhere near the ground. When you glance back as you reach the doorway, his eyes flick up, just for a heartbeat, before he looks away again. The moment is nothing. And yet, you can’t quite shake it as you step into class.

You spend longer than usual getting ready, maybe because you’ve been thinking about this all day, or maybe because it’s been almost two weeks since you last felt him pressed against you, and that kind of absence can make a girl desperate. The razor glides over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes, leaving your legs impossibly smooth; you linger at the curves of your calves, at the line of your thighs, because you know he’ll notice. In your dresser drawer, you dig past the sensible cotton and lace bralettes to pull out the lingerie you reserve for nights when you want to see that look in his eyes, the one that makes him tilt his head just slightly before his mouth curves in something almost like hunger. It’s black, silky, barely there, the kind of thing that doesn’t stay on for long. 

You spritz perfume along your neck and wrists, knowing exactly how it will rise in the heat between you later. The final check in the mirror has you biting back a smirk; yeah, you look good. Dangerous. Like trouble wrapped in soft skin. The walk to his apartment feels longer than usual, your heart beating harder with every step. By the time you knock, you’re already picturing the way his hands will find your waist, the weight of him between your thighs. The door swings open almost instantly, as if he’d been standing there waiting for you, and there he is, Heeseung, tall and lazy-smiled, leaning against the doorframe in a t-shirt that hangs a little too loose, hair slightly messy in the way that makes you want to ruin him more. 

“You made it,” he says, voice low, warm.

“You sound surprised,” you reply, stepping past him into the faintly lit space.

“Not surprised,” he murmurs, shutting the door behind you. “Just happy.” The apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the TV from the living room. A bowl of popcorn sits on the coffee table, untouched, already forgotten in favor of something far more interesting. The couch is familiar territory; you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve ended up tangled there, breathless and flushed.

You glance toward the closed hallway doors. “You’re here alone?”

Heeseung shakes his head, a little smirk tugging at his lips. “Sunghoon’s here. But don’t worry, told him you were coming over.”

You arch a brow. “And?”

“And,” he drawls, stepping closer until you have to tilt your chin to keep his gaze, “he’s in his room, headphones on, sworn to stay there all night. Not a problem.”

You laugh under your breath, brushing past him toward the couch. “You make it sound like we’re doing something scandalous.”

He grins at that, sharp and knowing before dropping down beside you. “We are.” There’s a pause where neither of you looks at the TV. The screen flickers, casting soft shadows over his face, and you feel his gaze like a touch before his hand even moves.

“You missed me,” he says suddenly, like it’s a fact and not a question.

You turn your head, meeting his eyes. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, leaning in just enough that you can smell the faint clean scent of his soap. “And right.” You smirk, letting your fingertips trace the seam of the couch between you. “Maybe I did. Or maybe I was just bored.”

His laugh is quiet, low in his chest, the kind that makes your pulse stutter. “If you were bored, you wouldn’t be wearing that.” His gaze flicks downward for just a moment, enough for heat to coil low in your stomach.

“And what am I wearing?” you tease, feigning innocence.

“Trouble,” he says, his voice dipping deeper. “The kind I can’t stop thinking about.” There’s something dangerous in the way he’s looking at you now, intent, focused, like the rest of the world has slipped out of existence. His fingers brush your thigh lightly, almost experimentally, and you feel the electricity jump between you like it’s been waiting these last two weeks to spark.

“You really plan on watching Netflix?” you ask, tilting your head.

“No,” he admits without hesitation. “I plan on having you right here before the opening credits finish.”

It’s late, the kind of late where the world outside feels like it doesn’t exist, swallowed whole by the quiet hum of a campus asleep. The only light in the room is the dim golden spill from the lamp on the side table, painting warm shadows over Heeseung’s skin. He’s on the couch, legs spread just enough to beckon you closer, head tilted back against the cushion like he’s been waiting all night for you to climb into his lap. You straddle him without hesitation, your knees pressing into the cushion on either side of his hips, your palms braced against his chest. His hands slide up your thighs like he’s mapping familiar territory, thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles into your skin as if to remind you exactly who you belong to in this moment.

"Been driving me crazy all night, you know that?" His voice is low, a slow drag of heat that sends a shiver straight through you. "You show up dressed like this, smelling like that—" his grip tightens suddenly, forcing you to feel the twitch of his body beneath you, "—and you expect me to take my time?"

You smirk, leaning in close enough that your lips graze his jaw. "Didn’t think you had any patience left to take your time."

A sharp scoff leaves him, but his hands are already pulling you closer, his control hanging by a thread. "Patience isn’t the problem. It’s restraint. And you’re making it real hard to keep any of it."

When he finally pulls you down to kiss him, it’s with a hunger that steals your breath. His mouth moves against yours with a heat that feels like it’s been building for weeks, tongues tangling, teeth grazing, and every movement screams of the tension from those long fourteen days without him. Your hands find his hair, tugging lightly, and the groan he lets out is deep enough to curl in your stomach. His hips lift just enough to grind into you, drawing a gasp from your lips that makes him smirk against your mouth. "That’s it," he murmurs, the command curling in the air between you. "Be loud. Don’t hold back for me." 

You don’t need telling twice. Every thrust up into you pulls another sound from your throat, higher, rawer, until you’re clutching at his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. He leans back slightly just to watch you, eyes dark and locked on every twitch and arch of your body. "Look at you… falling apart on me," he breathes, almost reverent but still tinged with authority. "You missed me, huh?" His hands find your waist, circling up to cup at your breasts. 

Your breathless laugh is broken with a moan. "Maybe a little."

He grins, slow and wicked. "Say it."

"I missed you." The words spill out without hesitation, the truth burning through your veins.

"Yeah, you did." His voice is smug, but the way his hands grip your hips tells you he’s just as desperate, dragging you over him harder, faster, until your sounds fill the quiet apartment and you forget there’s even a thin wall between you and Sunghoon’s room. You don’t care, and clearly, neither does Heeseung.

When it finally ends, you’re both wrecked — your chest heaving, his hands still gripping you like he doesn’t want to let go. The room smells like sweat and your perfume, your legs trembling so badly that he has to steady you as you climb off him. You glance at the clock and blink in disbelief.

"It’s almost two in the morning," you murmur, still catching your breath.

Heeseung just smirks, leaning back with a lazy satisfaction. "Guess time flies when you’re getting exactly what you’ve been begging for."

"Begging?" you shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

He stands, helping you to your feet with one firm pull, his hands still lingering at your waist. "Don’t pretend you weren’t." You roll your eyes but can’t hide the flush in your cheeks. Heeseung disappears into the bathroom and returns with a warm towel, cleaning you up with surprising gentleness that contrasts the heat from minutes ago. "Stay," he says finally, tossing the towel into the laundry basket.

Your body is still humming, every muscle loose and warm, so the offer is tempting. "I’ll crash on the couch," you reply, trying to sound firm even though your voice is soft.

He gives you a look, half amused, half annoyed. "Bed’s more comfortable."

"That wasn’t part of the rules," you remind him, a little too quickly. For a second, he looks like he might argue, but then he just shakes his head with a smirk. "Fine. Couch it is." He tosses you a blanket and a pillow, watching you curl up. "Don’t complain if you wake up with a sore back, princess."

"Goodnight, Heeseung," you say, pulling the blanket over you.

"Goodnight." His voice is low, lingering in the doorway longer than he needs to before finally turning away, and you can’t help but think he’s already plotting ways to make you break those rules next time.

The couch was lumpy. Too short. Too hot. And no matter how many times you flipped your pillow over, it never cooled enough to soothe the restless ache in your body. Heeseung had been right, his bed was probably a cloud compared to this, all plush sheets and deep warmth, but you weren’t about to break the one boundary you’d drawn in permanent ink. Rules were rules, and you weren’t ready to blur that line. Still… God, it was warm. Sweat gathered in the hollow of your neck, the blanket tangled somewhere around your thighs. Eventually, the air felt too thick to breathe. You shoved it all off, swung your legs to the floor, and padded toward the kitchen, your bare feet whispering against the hardwood.

The apartment was quiet, shadow-heavy except for the weak orange glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the blinds. You filled a glass at the sink, the hum of the fridge filling the silence, cool water slipping over your tongue. You were halfway through your second gulp when you heard it. Faint at first. A muffled, rhythmic sound, You stood frozen, unable to move. There was no mistaking it, not for you. The breathless moans. The tiny choked gasps between words. That was your voice.

But not the casual, everyday kind. Not the voice you used to say “pass the salt” or “thanks for the ride.” This was the other one, the one dipped in honey and sin, the one you reserved for the camera when the lights were dim, the tip jar was filling fast, and you were pushing your viewers exactly where they wanted to go. And it wasn’t coming from Heeseung’s room. The sound, low but steady, was drifting from down the hall. From his roommate’s door.

Your fingers tightened around the glass, so hard you were afraid it might shatter. Heat rushed to your cheeks, crawling up your neck until your whole face burned. No way. No fucking way. But your body was moving before your brain could stop it. Quiet steps. A slow lean toward the slightly ajar door. You pressed your palm against the wood and nudged it open by the smallest inch. The first thing you saw was the light.

It spilled in a harsh square from his laptop screen, painting Sunghoon’s face in pale blue. He was slouched in his desk chair, knees spread, one hand gripping the armrest hard enough to whiten his knuckles, the other — Oh god. He was stroking himself slow and tight, his chest rising and falling in uneven pulls, eyes locked on the video playing in front of him. Your video. You knew it instantly, the lacy set you wore that night, the angle you shot from, the way your lips parted around the mic when you’d whispered something filthy you couldn’t even remember word for word now because your brain was short-circuiting.

then you saw it. The username in the corner of the screen. Bold white letters over black. PARKSHOON. You almost choked. Holy shit. Shoon. The most consistent subscriber you had. The one who tipped every stream, who always sent private messages dripping with praise and filthy little requests. The one who somehow knew exactly how to ask for things in a way that made you want to give them. It had been Sunghoon all along. 

His head snapped over his shoulder so fast it startled you, his black hair falling into his eyes as his hand froze mid-stroke. His mouth parted, chest still heaving, pupils blown so wide they swallowed the brown. 

“W–what are you doing here?” he stammered, voice pitching higher than you’d ever heard it. His eyes were huge, frantic behind his glasses, darting between you and the glowing screen as if reality might suddenly glitch and save him from this moment. He looked like a deer caught under a spotlight, except the spotlight was the warm, humiliating glow of his monitor, still playing the sound of your breathless moans. For a second, all you could do was stare. Your brain felt like it was trying to reboot after a system crash. Then, without thinking, without even wanting to stop yourself you said it.

“You’re… parkshoon?” The name slipped out like it had been waiting at the back of your throat for months. His brows knitted together in confusion, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care that the veil was gone, that your most closely guarded secret was now sitting in the middle of his cluttered bedroom like a live grenade. The only thing you cared about was that he, the quiet, awkward guy you’d barely spoken to in groups and yet somehow kept running into, the one you’d pegged as harmless, was the same guy who paid you to get off almost every night. And worse, he’d just been caught in the act.

He blinked at you, still unsure if he’d heard you right. “I—what?”

Your lips curled into a half-smirk. “Don’t play dumb. You’re my top subscriber.” The words seemed to detonate inside him. His eyes went wider still, darting back to the monitor, the live playback on the screen confirming every horrible suspicion for him. He spun back toward you like you’d just kicked his chair, muttering in rapid succession, “No, no, no, no, no—” His hands scrambled for the laptop, slamming the lid shut so fast the sound cut off mid-sigh.

“No way,” he breathed, almost to himself. He sounded winded, like the air had been punched out of him. For reasons you couldn’t name, watching him trip over himself like this, flustered, pink-faced, unable to string a sentence together, was adorable. You tilted your head, letting the silence stretch between you just enough to make him squirm, before saying, lightly, “Relax. It’s okay.”

The sly lilt in your voice made his blush deepen, his ears visibly burning under the soft fall of his hair. “O-okay?” he echoed, voice cracking on the last syllable. 

“Mhm.” You took a step closer, your smile barely-there but deliberate. “Did you have any idea it was me?”

He shook his head so fast it was almost comical. “N-no! I swear, I didn’t, I mean, you don’t even, uh, show your face so how could I—”

You cut in, voice low. “Did you listen to me and Heeseung earlier?” That stopped him cold. His mouth opened, closed. He looked down, his entire posture shrinking as if the carpet might swallow him whole. He didn’t need to say anything; that tiny dip of his head was enough. A laugh escaped you, soft, amused. “So you did.” 

“I—” His voice was barely above a whisper now. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I think it’s cute,” you said simply, and you meant it. The way his breath hitched when you moved closer, the way his hands clenched into nervous fists at his sides, it was all… sweet, in a way. Sweet and a little intoxicating. Your finger traced down the center of his chest, slow and deliberate. His entire body went rigid, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard when you pushed your cleavage together and caught him staring. He swallowed, audibly.

Somehow, through a mix of teasing words and the heat lingering in the room, you found yourself making a different kind of offer. “You know… if you want, I could teach you.”

His eyes snapped up to yours. “Teach me…?”

“How to please a girl,” you clarified, letting the phrase hang in the air. “Since you’re so cute.”

The poor boy looked like you’d just suggested robbing a bank together. “A-are you serious?”

You smiled, slow and deliberate. “Dead serious. I love being charitable.”

His gaze flickered, suspicion creeping in through the haze of fluster. “What’s in it for you?”

You pretended to think about it, then said smoothly, “If you’re comfortable… you could be in a few videos with me.” If his eyes got any wider, they’d fall right out of his head. You explained, still keeping your voice calm, casual, that you’d been getting constant requests for someone to join you, but anonymity was non-negotiable. With him, though, it could work. No face, no identity. Just a body. It took him a moment, but finally, he nodded, still looking like he wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or thrilled. And just like that, without meaning to, you’d struck an agreement.

You had been turning the words over in your head for days, softening them, reshaping them, tossing them out entirely only to rebuild them again. Every attempt sounded either too harsh or too cowardly, too blunt or too hesitant. There was no elegant way to do this, no version that didn’t carry the risk of breaking something you couldn’t glue back together. The agreement with Sunghoon had felt like a spark in the dark, a dangerous, thrilling thing but it also came with the knowledge that you’d have to close one door before you could even think about walking through another.

When you and Heeseung had first fallen into your friends-with-benefits arrangement, you’d both agreed on the rules. No sleeping with anyone else without saying so first. No lying about it. No messy overlap. It had seemed simple at the time, almost easy, until now, when you were standing outside his apartment door, staring at the brass numbers like they might rearrange themselves into a reason to leave. You weren’t even going to tell him about Sunghoon. That part of your life, your cam work, the private messages, the quiet, electrified conversations, was a world Heeseung didn’t know existed. Only Sunghoon knew, and you intended to keep it that way. You took a breath you didn’t feel like you got to finish before you knocked. The sound echoed too loud in your own ears, and for a fleeting second you imagined him not being home, imagined yourself walking away, postponing the inevitable for just one more day. But the door opened before you could entertain the thought further, and there he was, smiling. A real, wide grin that made his eyes crinkle just slightly.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm, almost teasing. “Didn’t think I’d see you today.” The unexpected cheer in his tone made your stomach twist. You didn’t have romantic feelings for him, never had, but you’d liked him. More than liked him, even. He was fun, easy to be around when things weren’t complicated, and he knew how to make you feel good in ways that weren’t easily replaced. But all good things ended eventually, and this one… well, this one was about to. 

“Hey,” you murmured, trying to keep your own tone light. “I, uh… I need to talk to you about something.”

His grin faded into curiosity, head tilting slightly. “Okay… come in.” You stepped past him into the apartment, the familiar scent of him, clean laundry and something faintly spiced, curling into the air between you. He closed the door behind you, the sound sharper than it should have been, and leaned against the frame, waiting. 

“So,” you began, words sticking to the roof of your mouth, “I’m… planning on sleeping with someone else.”

His expression froze. “What?” You shifted, glancing away for a beat. “You remember our agreement,” you reminded him, voice quieter now. “If we’re going to start something like that with someone else, someone we plan on… continuing with, we’d stop this. That’s… where I’m at.” 

Heeseung let out a short, humorless laugh, though there was no actual amusement behind it. “Who?”

“It’s none of your business,” you said, more firmly than you expected.

He scoffed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. “Right. Whatever. Thanks for the heads-up, I guess.”

“I didn’t want to just disappear,” you replied softly. “I thought… I owed you a proper conversation.”

“Great,” he muttered, pushing off the doorframe. “Conversation’s over. I’m heading out, so—” He gestured vaguely toward the door.

You hesitated, lingering. “Can we still be friends?” That was when he laughed. Not the good kind of laugh, either, the one that felt shared and familiar. This one was sharp, almost cutting, like you’d just told him the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. You knit your brows together. “What’s so funny?”

He looked at you like you’d missed something obvious. “You seriously think I want to be friends with you?”

The words landed heavier than you thought they would. “I—yeah, I did. I thought—”

“Don’t overcomplicate it,” he interrupted flatly. “You were just a way for me to get good pussy. That’s all.”

Something inside you went cold. Your hurt flared into anger before you could stop it. “Go fuck yourself, Heeseung.” He only shrugged, unbothered, and that indifference made it worse somehow. You turned sharply on your heel, storming out and letting his door slam behind you. The hallway felt longer than usual as you walked away, your chest tight, your hands trembling with everything you wished you’d said, and everything you never wanted to say to him again. 

The apartment felt different tonight. Not in any visible way, your walls were the same warm beige, the faint hum of the fridge still an ambient companion, but in the way your skin prickled with restless electricity. You’d been pacing for the past half hour, a looping circuit from your bedroom to the kitchen, sipping water you didn’t even want, glancing at the clock as though it might move faster under your scrutiny. Heeseung’s words still clung to you, bitter as old smoke, replaying in jagged flashes: You were just a way for me to get good pussy. You’d brushed it off earlier with the practiced ease of someone who knew how to build walls on demand, but now, alone in the dim stillness, the crack in your chest throbbed faintly. 

But this wasn’t the time to nurse bruised feelings. Sunghoon was on his way, and this was business, or at least, that’s what you told yourself. It didn’t matter that there was a flicker of something sharp and curious about him, something that made your breath hitch in ways you didn’t care to examine. You’d made an agreement, and tonight was your first session with him. You had to get your head in the game. You started with the shower, the hiss of hot water drowning out every thought. Steam curled around you, carrying the faint scent of your jasmine body wash. You dragged the razor slowly along your legs, each smooth pass another piece of armor you slipped on. By the time you stepped out, your skin was warm, pink, and smelling faintly of flowers. In the mirror, you lingered just a second too long, studying the way water clung to your collarbone before tracing down between your breasts. You told yourself it was about preparation, about looking your best for the camera, and for Sunghoon.

Your lingerie drawer was a riot of colors and textures, but tonight you reached for black lace, the kind that framed more than it covered. The straps slid over your shoulders like whispers, the matching panties hugging you just right. You layered it with a silk robe, crimson and soft, the hem grazing the top of your thighs. The robe’s sash hung loose, easy enough to pull free with one deliberate tug. Then came the tools of your trade. You knelt by the bed, fingers skimming the edge of your toy drawer before curling around the familiar shapes inside. You pulled out a few favorites, sleek, polished, humming with potential. You laid them on the nightstand like instruments waiting for a performance, the anticipation coiling tighter in your belly.

The candle was last. You struck the match, the sharp scent of sulfur giving way to the warm, sweet drift of vanilla as the wick caught flame. Its glow painted the room in molten gold, shadows stretching long and intimate across the walls. You sat back for a moment, just breathing it in, the heat, the scent, the faint tremor of nerves under your skin. And then, the knock.

Three firm raps against the door. Your lips curved before you even realized it, an instinctive smile tugging at the edges of your mouth. Not because you’d forgotten Heeseung’s words, those would linger for a while yet, but because Sunghoon was here, and with him came the promise of something different. Something sharp and deliberate, like a lesson you hadn’t realized you needed to learn. You rose, your silk robe swaying around your thighs as you padded toward the door. Your hand curled around the knob, pulse quickening, not with nerves, but with anticipation. Because whatever else tonight might bring, one thing was certain: the real game was just about to begin.

Sunghoon stands in the hallway like he’s been caught somewhere he doesn’t belong, cheeks tinted pink, hair slightly mussed, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, and when his eyes meet yours, they dart away just as quickly. It’s almost sweet. Almost. “Hi,” you greet, letting your voice drip with warmth, with a faint tease, the kind that makes him swallow hard.

He glances at you, then at the floor. “Hey.”

“Come in,” you murmur, stepping back. His gaze flickers over you for a brief, stolen second, catching on the way the robe clings to your waist before he obediently slips past you. Once inside, he stands near the edge of your living room like a guest in a stranger’s home, not quite sure where to put himself. You notice the way his fingers twitch against his thigh, restless.

“Thirsty?” you ask, walking toward the kitchen.

He hesitates, then nods. “Uh… water would be good.”

You pour him a glass, take your time with it, then return and hand it to him. His fingers brush yours, barely, and even that contact seems to fluster him, the glass trembling faintly as he takes a sip. You let him drink, then settle yourself on the arm of the couch, crossing your legs so your robe parts just enough to keep him distracted. “Before we start,” you begin, watching his Adam’s apple bob, “we need to talk rules.”

“Right,” he says quickly, wiping his palms against his jeans. The nervous habit only makes you smile.

“First thing,” you say slowly, “I’m clean. Tested. I’m also on birth control. Which means when we eventually fuck—” You let the word hang in the air, heavy and deliberate, watching how it makes him blink, how his fingers tighten around the glass. “—you won’t need a condom. Unless, of course, you want one.”

His ears burn pink. He shakes his head quickly. “No, I… I trust you.”

“Good.” You lean back slightly, studying him. “Are you a virgin, Sunghoon?”

He hesitates for just a beat before admitting, “Yeah.”

A slow smile spreads across your face. “Have you ever done anything at all with a girl?”

He shakes his head, almost sheepish. “No.”

“That’s cute,” you say softly, letting the word curl like smoke between you. You watch him shift, as though unsure whether to be embarrassed or pleased. That’s the fun part, you want him right on the edge, unsure if he’s prey or something else entirely. “One more rule,” you say, your tone turning sharper. “You don’t tell anyone about this arrangement. Not your friends. Not your family. And definitely not Heeseung.”

He meets your eyes this time, nodding firmly. “I won’t. I promise.” You study him for a moment longer, then your expression softens, head tilting slightly. A teasing smile curves your mouth.

“Well,” you murmur, your voice low, inviting. “Let’s get started, shall we?” 

Your fingers slip through his, warm and a little clammy, the faint tremor in his grip betraying nerves he probably thought he’d hidden. “Come on,” you murmur, tugging him gently to his feet. Sunghoon stumbles a little in the process, whether from surprise or from the simple fact that your robe is gaping enough to tease at the curve of your chest, you can’t be sure, and you guide him down the short hallway toward your bedroom. His head is tilted, his eyes darting between the floor and your back, like he’s trying not to look but can’t help stealing glances.

You push the door open and lead him inside. “First lesson,” you announce, letting his hand go so you can turn toward him, “is how to properly please a girl.” Your tone is easy, but it’s deliberate too, like you want the weight of the words to settle over him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. You gesture toward the chair by the wall. “Sit.” He obeys immediately, perching on the edge like a student about to take the most important exam of his life. You don’t sit beside him. Instead, you step back toward your bed, the silky hem of your robe brushing the tops of your thighs as you climb onto the mattress and turn to face him. “Tonight,” you say, settling back on your hands, “you’re just going to watch.”

His brow furrows. “I mean… I do that a lot. When I watch your videos.” His voice is quieter than before, like he’s almost embarrassed to admit it, his ears pink against the dark strands of his hair.

You shake your head slowly, the faintest smirk tugging at your lips. “Not the same. This time, I’m telling you exactly what to do… and exactly how to do it.”

Something in his expression changes then, a mix of curiosity and tension, his gaze sharpening, his breath evening out into something heavier. You can see the way his knees shift, restless, as if anchoring himself to the seat will keep him from leaning in too far. Your hands find your own body, fingertips tracing a languid path over your stomach, brushing the curve of your hip. “Foreplay,” you begin, your voice deliberate, every syllable pronounced like you want it etched into his mind, “isn’t just something you rush through to get to the good part. It’s what makes the good part… better.” You let your fingers trail lower, just enough for him to notice the subtle shift in your posture, your legs parting slightly as you sink deeper into the mattress. 

Sunghoon’s breathing changes again, a sharp inhale he tries to disguise. You glance at him, noting how his glasses are starting to fog along the edges, how his grip tightens against his own thighs like he needs to hold himself still. “You watch for cues,” you continue, your fingertips now brushing the inside of your thigh. “Her breathing changes. Her body shifts toward you. She wants more, but she’s not ready for everything yet. You give her time to get there.” The silky knot at your waist loosens with a casual flick of your fingers, and your robe falls open. You let it slip off your shoulders, the fabric whispering against your skin as it slides to the bed. You watch his reaction closely, his eyes widen, his lips part, and he freezes like he’s afraid even blinking might make him miss something. 

“Still with me, Sunghoon?” you ask softly.

He nods a little too fast, his voice catching. “Y-yeah. I’m… I’m watching.”

“Good,” you say, leaning back slightly, your body open under the low lamplight. “Now keep watching.” Your nails trace slow, deliberate paths over the lace stretched across your hips, the sheer panel barely hiding anything from him. You sit back on your knees, giving him an unhurried view, your head tilted just enough to make it look like you’re sizing him up. His knees are spread wider now, not from confidence, but because it feels like his body doesn’t know how to contain itself, like there’s too much heat building in him and it has to go somewhere.

“Eyes on me,” you instruct, and his gaze, which hadn’t dared wander, sharpens further, locked onto the space between your thighs like it’s the only thing keeping him breathing. “Tell me,” you murmur, thumbs hooking under the waistband of your panties, pulling just enough to let the elastic snap back against your skin, “what do you see?” 

His voice is low, almost reverent, like the words are fragile in his mouth. “I see… you. In the prettiest lingerie I’ve ever seen. The way it hugs you—” he swallows hard, jaw flexing “—it’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Mhm,” you hum, as if considering whether his answer is good enough. “You know what this set is called?” You slowly spread your knees apart, the lace stretching tighter, a faint shimmer catching in the low light. “It’s called Sweet Sin. Thought it was fitting.”

He exhales shakily, his hands curling into fists on his thighs. “Yeah,” he manages, voice rough. “Fits you. Sweet… and sinful.”

You let your fingers drift lower, brushing over the thin lace, pressing just enough to feel yourself under your own touch. His breath hitches immediately, his shoulders squaring like the movement alone punched the air out of him. “Mhm” you say softly, “you start slow. You let her feel herself for you. You don’t grab at her, you don’t rush. You let her take her time.” You press more firmly, rolling your hips slightly into your palm, and his thighs tense so hard you can hear the faint creak of the chair under him. “You’re gonna watch how she reacts,” you continue, your voice slipping into something filthier, each word intentional. “Watch the way her mouth parts when it feels good… the way her hips move like she’s trying to fuck her own hand. See that?”

“Yes,” he breathes, his voice thick and broken. “Fuck— I see it.” You smile lazily, sliding your hand up just enough to hook your thumb into the waistband again. “Next,” you murmur, “you take it off. But slow.” You lift your hips, shimmying the panties down an inch at a time, until they’re caught halfway down your thighs. The air feels cool against your damp skin, but his gaze is scorching, burning a path over you with no mercy.

“Sunghoon,” you say, voice low but sharp enough to slice through his restraint, “tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

His jaw works like he’s trying to chew the words into something safe, but what comes out is raw. “I’m thinking… I’d do anything to touch you right now. Anything. You’re— fuck, you’re so pretty, I don’t even know where I’d start.” You grin slowly, dragging the panties the rest of the way off, letting them fall carelessly to the floor. Now, there’s nothing between his eyes and the wet heat of you, and you spread your knees wider on purpose, propping yourself on one hand so the other can drag lazy circles over your clit. His breathing turns uneven, every inhale sharper than the last, and you can see the way his body is strung so tight it’s almost painful. 

“Good,” you purr, dipping two fingers lower, coating them in your own slick before sliding them back up. “Then you’re paying attention. Because this—” you bite your lip as your fingers find just the right pressure “—this is exactly what you do to her first. Just enough to make her want more. But you don’t give it to her yet.”

His eyes are glassy behind his glasses, his mouth hanging open like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “You’re killing me,” he says, and there’s no humor in it, just pure, unfiltered desperation. You let out a low laugh, still moving your fingers, your hips rolling in slow, obscene little circles. “Not yet, baby. But maybe… if you’re good…” 

“Step three…” You smile, slow and wicked. “When you know she’s aching for it, when she’s soaked and shaking and begging, that’s when you take her exactly where she wants to go. Not before. Not after.” Your voice drops into a husky whisper. “And right now, Sunghoon… you’re going to watch me take myself there while you sit there and wish it was you.”

He makes a low, strangled noise, leaning forward like he’s physically fighting the urge to grab you. “Say it,” you tell him. “Say you wish it was you.”

His voice is raw when he answers. “I wish it was me. More than anything.” 

You bite your lip, feeling the tension coil inside you until it’s almost unbearable. “Then watch closely. Because when I finally let you touch me, you’re going to do it exactly like this.” You guide yourself through it, every gasp and arch of your spine drawn out so he sees exactly what works, every sound spilling from your lips just for him. The room is heavy with the heat of it, the quiet, desperate way he breathes like he’s in pain, the almost reverent way his eyes stay locked on yours even when your body shakes apart. When it’s over, when your chest is heaving and your limbs are loose, you smile at him with slow, deliberate cruelty. “Lesson over,” you whisper. “For now.”

You sit back on the bed, legs folded beneath you, chest heaving lightly as you smooth a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Sunghoon is still perched in the chair, glasses slightly fogged, eyes wide and unblinking like he’s just been hit by a storm he can’t quite process. There’s something unbearably cute about the way he keeps adjusting them, as if trying to hide himself from the intensity of the moment. “Good job tonight,” you say softly, letting the praise drip out slowly, savoring the way he swallows at your words. “You did exactly what I asked, and I’m proud.” 

His hands twitch against his thighs again, and you notice the faint shake in his voice when he responds. “Th-thank you… I—I mean, I tried. I didn’t want to—” He trails off, face flaming red.

“You didn’t want to what?” you ask, tilting your head, playful yet commanding, forcing him to meet your gaze.

He swallows hard, the glasses slipping again as he pushes them back up the bridge of his nose. “I… I didn’t want to mess up. I didn’t want to…” He huffs out a shaky breath, “I don’t know. I just wanted to do it right.”

A soft chuckle escapes you, and it’s almost warm, a little teasing. “And you did. Perfectly. That’s why I like teaching you, Sunghoon. You’re eager. You’re careful. And you pay attention. That’s rare.”

His knees bounce slightly, and he tries to sit up straighter, though his body still feels tense. “I… I like learning from you. I mean… you’re… amazing at this.”

You smirk, letting your fingers trail lightly over your own arm in a subtle, teasing motion, the heat between you still crackling. “Well,” you say, leaning back on your hands and giving him a slow, deliberate look, “tonight was just the first lesson. The next one?” You bite your lip, the corner of your mouth tugging upward with mischief. “It’s going to be ten times more fun. Are you ready for that?”

His eyes widen, pupils dilated, and there’s a short, sharp intake of breath that makes your stomach flutter. “I—I… I’ll be ready,” he stammers, voice shaky but eager.

“Good,” you purr, standing and letting the movement stretch your legs, swaying just enough to make him swallow audibly. “Because I don’t do boring lessons, Sunghoon. And you? You’re in for a ride next time.”

He nods so quickly it’s almost comical, fumbling for words. “I-I won’t mess up. I promise. I’ll… I’ll be ready.”

You grin, letting the teasing linger just a second longer before heading toward the door. “I’ll hold you to that,” you say over your shoulder, voice soft but full of authority, leaving him blinking after you, heat still racing through him, pulse hammering. Sunghoon rises from his seat, following you out into the living room and to the door of your dorm, you open it with a smile comparable to an invitation. Sunghoon's eyes glaze over before he walks out the door. The door closes behind him , the room falling silent except for the faint click, but the tension doesn’t leave. You know it’s only going to build until the next lesson, and somewhere deep down, Sunghoon is already counting down the hours. 

The week had been a slow, grinding march toward mental collapse. Exam season never failed to bleed you dry, but this time, it felt like you were clawing your way up a cliff face with no rope. Sunghoon, of course, had been breezing through his own exams like they were puzzles designed for children, he’d probably already aced half of them before you had even cracked your textbooks. And while you were drowning in color-coded notes and half-empty coffee cups, he’d been sending the occasional message. Little check-ins, casual banter, and, when the mood struck, that wicked streak he was still learning to control. 

You’d returned the favor once or twice in your own way, snapping a few pictures when the lighting was flattering, when you knew the angle of your body would linger in his mind long after he locked his phone. They weren’t as bold as they could’ve been, you’d been too buried in flashcards and readings, but they were enough. Enough to keep him restless. Enough to remind him what he was working toward. His shy and awkward resolve lessened behind a screen, that much was evident and boy did you enjoy the teasing. 

But the truth was, no matter how tempting those exchanges were, you couldn’t afford to lose focus. Unlike him, your classes didn’t come easy. You couldn’t wing it on test day and hope for the best, you needed to study, to put in hours until the information sat in your head like carved stone. But the moment you clicked “submit” on your last exam, a weight lifted from your chest, and for the first time in days, you could breathe. And tonight, you’d promised yourself, you wouldn’t think about school. Not once. Your phone buzzed on the desk where you’d tossed it earlier, screen lighting up with a message from Lara: Outside, finally. 

You grinned, snatching it up and firing off a quick On my way! before shoving it into your bag. Your outfit was already picked, something that made you feel like the main character of the night, with just enough edge to turn heads. The second you stepped into the hallway, the stale dorm air seemed to fade, replaced by the faint hum of excitement that came with knowing a party waited at the end of the drive.

When you pushed open the building’s front door, the crisp night air hit your cheeks, and there was Lara’s beat-up little sedan idling under the streetlight, the bass of some playlist thumping faintly from inside. She leaned out the window, hair curled perfectly, grinning at you like she’d just spotted trouble in the making. “Took you long enough,” she teased as you jogged up, her eyes darting over your outfit approvingly. “But damn; worth the wait.” She takes off fast down the road like her pedal couldn't wait to get to where you needed to go, and you were right there with it.

The party hums like a living thing, the bass thrumming through the floorboards before you’ve even stepped inside. The air smells like cheap beer, perfume, and the faint tang of weed clinging to someone’s clothes. The moment you and Lara push through the door, heat wraps around you, voices weaving into an endless tide of laughter and chatter. Your friends spot you almost instantly, a small, familiar cluster across the living room. Yunah waves wildly from the couch, Jay raises his red solo cup in greeting, and Jake calls your name over the music. And then you see him Heeseung. 

He’s leaned casually against the wall like he has nowhere to be and nothing to prove, one hand tucked into the pocket of his black jeans, the other wrapped loosely around a drink. His dark eyes flick briefly in your direction and then, nothing. No nod, no smirk, not even the ghost of recognition. Just a glance that slides off you like you’re a stranger at his party. You match his energy, your chin tipping up as you turn away without a greeting.

You barely make it three steps toward the couch before Daniela, Yunah, and Lara swoop in like vultures, herding you into a quiet corner near the hallway. “Okay, spill,” Daniela demands, eyes narrowing like she’s seconds from shaking the truth out of you. “Why are you and Heeseung acting like you’ve never met? You were attached at the—” She stops herself, lips curling into a knowing grin. “You know.” 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance even though your pulse ticks just a little faster at the subject. “We stopped our… arrangement,” you say, voice pitched casually over the music. “And he got pissy about it.”

“What do you mean pissy?” Yunah asks, leaning in like this is the best gossip she’s heard all month.

You roll your eyes. “I told him I didn’t want to do it anymore. He didn’t take it well. Said I was just good pussy to him or whatever” You air-quote the words like they’re ridiculous. “It was purely sex between us. That’s all.”

Lara snorts. “He’s such an asshole.” 

Daniela, however, tilts her head, the way she always does when she’s about to say something you don’t want to hear. “Or,” she says slowly, “he likes you.” You laugh, loud and sharp, because it’s easier than letting the comment land. “Please. The only thing Heeseung likes is getting off. End of story.” She doesn’t argue, but the way her mouth presses into a tight, thoughtful line tells you she’s not buying it for a second. By the time you rejoin the group, the music’s shifted into a heavier beat, bodies swaying in the open space where the furniture’s been pushed aside. Jake is telling some over-the-top story to Jay, his hands flying animatedly, but your focus snags on the figure draped against Heeseung’s side. Sakura.

Her manicured fingers rest possessively on his forearm, her head tipped toward him like she’s whispering something meant only for him. He doesn’t notice you watching, or maybe he does and doesn’t care, but the sight barely stirs anything in you. You don’t care. You don’t. If anything, it’s just confirmation. Whatever you and Heeseung had was physical, transactional, and fully in the past. Still, your stomach twists when Sakura glances your way and her mouth curls into something that isn’t quite a smile. The conversation flows easily enough when you slip back into the circle, laughter and jokes bouncing between your friends, but every few minutes, without fail, Sakura chimes in with some little barb aimed directly at you. Not loud enough to cause a scene, but sharp enough to catch.

“Wow, interesting outfit choice,” she murmurs after one of your jokes, her gaze sweeping over you with deliberate slowness.

When you tell a funny story from class, she hums under her breath, “Guess they’ll let anyone enroll these days.” It’s the third or fourth comment that makes you finally turn to her, your patience frayed thin. “Okay,” you say, your voice sweet but edged with steel, “do you want to tell me what your problem is, or are you just going to keep yapping like a chihuahua in the corner?”

The circle goes still, like someone’s hit pause on the party. Sakura’s eyes flash. “My problem,” she says, stepping closer, “is you. You think you’re so much better than everyone, strutting around—”

You cut her off with a slow smile, the kind you know will only piss her off more. “Sweetheart, the only one strutting around here is you. And for the record? You should focus on keeping your man’s attention instead of trying to get mine.” A couple of your friends bite back laughs, but Jay actually snorts into his drink.

Her cheeks flush an ugly shade of red. “You’re pathetic.”

“And you’re boring,” you fire back, your voice syrupy. “Which is worse, really.” It’s the kind of line that leaves her blinking for a split second before she spins on her heel and storms off, muttering something under her breath.

Heeseung’s jaw is tight, his eyes sharp as they find yours. “What the hell was that?” he demands, stepping toward you.

You raise your brows, unbothered. “Just returning the energy she gave me.”

“That’s not—” He cuts himself off when Jay steps in, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“She started it, man,” Jay says simply.

Yunah chimes in, “Yeah, keep your dog on a leash if you don’t want her biting people.” The comment earns a chorus of laughter from the group, everyone except Heeseung, who mutters something under his breath and stalks after Sakura, disappearing into the crowd.

The laughter and chatter around you feel muffled now, fading into background noise like someone turned the volume down on the entire party. After your exchange with Sakura, whatever spark of fun you’d been riding when you first arrived is gone, smothered by irritation and that lingering, restless heat in your chest. The bass-heavy music thumps through the walls, shaking your drink just enough to send the ice clinking against the glass, but you barely register it. Every time someone brushes past, every time another shrill laugh cuts through the air, it just grates on you more. You glance at your friends, Lara deep in conversation with Yunah, Jay making exaggerated gestures at Jake over something ridiculous, and you know that if you stayed, you’d just spend the rest of the night standing here, sipping the same drink, staring into space, and replaying that spat over and over in your head. No thanks. You’ve got better ways to burn off this mood.

You nurse the last of your drink and drift toward the hallway, away from the crowd, your phone already in your hand. There’s only one person you can think of right now, one person who might, awkwardly, sweetly, make this mood melt away. Your thumb hovers over Sunghoon’s contact for a beat before you press call. It rings longer than usual before he answers, his voice soft and almost uncertain, like he wasn’t sure you meant to call him.  “Hello? …Uh, hey.”

You can hear the faint rustle of movement on his end, like he’s sitting up straighter, adjusting his glasses, clearing his throat. “You—uh—you’re at that party, right?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning against the wall. “But I’m… not really feeling it anymore.”

“Oh.” He hesitates. “Uh… sorry, that sucks. Did something happen?” You smile faintly at how genuine he sounds, worried first, rather than curious. “Just not in the mood to be here. I was thinking maybe… it’s time for another lesson.”

There’s a pause. And then another. You almost think the call’s dropped until you hear him swallow.  “A… lesson?” His voice cracks slightly on the word, like he’s afraid to assume you mean that kind. “You mean, like right now?”

“Mm-hm.” You keep your tone soft but steady, letting the suggestion hang there.

“Oh. Uh. Wow.” He laughs nervously, and you can picture him rubbing the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but forward. “I-I mean… I guess I could… um… yeah. Yeah, I could come by.” His words stumble over each other, and it’s almost endearing how hard he’s trying not to sound too eager.  

“You guess?” you tease, and the hitch in his breath is so audible you have to bite back a laugh.

“I mean—yes. Yes, I’ll come by,” he rushes to correct, his voice quiet but determined. “If… if you want me to.”

“I do,” you say, smiling now, your voice dipping just enough for him to hear it. “It’s not too late, right?”

“N-no. Not for you. I was just… uh… studying, so… I can be there soon. Like… maybe twenty minutes?”

“Perfect. I’ll be waiting.” When you hang up, you can almost imagine him sitting there, staring at his phone with wide eyes, already running through a dozen awkward what-if scenarios in his head. The thought makes something warm curl low in your stomach.

When you get home, the quiet hits you like a cool wave after the overheated chaos of the party. You kick your shoes off in the hallway, letting the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant city sounds settle into the background. Your phone buzzes in your hand, a message from Sunghoon saying he’s about ten minutes away. 

Just reading it sends a spark through you. Ten minutes isn’t much. Ten minutes is barely enough time to breathe, let alone get ready, but the rush of it makes your pulse quicken. You toss your phone onto the bed and start moving with purpose. You open your dresser, fingers skimming over fabric until you find it, the lingerie set you’ve been saving, one that makes you feel like every soft, dangerous thing all at once. The color is rich against your skin, the straps framing you perfectly. You slip it on, adjusting the cups, smoothing the edges, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You almost laugh, yeah, this will do. 

You fluff your hair, fingers working through the strands to give it that effortless, just-messed look, and swipe on a touch of lip gloss for good measure. There’s no time for overthinking. By the time you’re putting your brush down, a knock sounds at your door, three quick, tentative taps, like he’s not sure if he should even be here. Your stomach flips. You swing the door open, and there he is,  Sunghoon, in a hoodie that’s slightly too big for him, the sleeves pushed up awkwardly to his forearms. His hair is a little mussed, glasses slightly askew, and the second his eyes find you, his mouth opens like he’s going to say something,  but nothing comes out. “Hi—” he starts, but you barely let him get the syllable out before you’re catching his wrist and tugging him inside.

“Come on,” you say, the words paired with a giggle that makes his ears turn pink almost instantly.

He stumbles a little at the sudden pull, mumbling something like, “W-wait—” but you’re already leading him straight to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. The moment he steps inside, you push him gently onto the bed, and he lands on his back with a startled oof, wide eyes blinking up at you like he can’t believe any of this is actually happening.

You crawl onto the bed, straddling him, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His gasp is audible, sharp in the quiet, and you feel the twitch in his leg as he shifts nervously beneath you. “This,” you murmur, leaning forward just enough that your hair falls over your shoulder, “is lesson number two.”

He swallows hard, eyes darting between your face and anywhere else, the ceiling, the wall, the hem of your lingerie like he’s afraid to stare too long. “Really?” His voice is small, careful, like he’s testing the words. 

“Mhm.” You let your hands rest lightly on his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat through his hoodie. “And this time… you get to participate.”

The flush in his cheeks deepens instantly. “P-participate? Like—uh—like… actually…?” He trails off, the end of his sentence dissolving into nervous laughter, his fingers curling into the blanket beneath him. “Yes, Sunghoon. Actually.” You tilt your head, smiling. “You’ve been a good student so far. Think you can handle it?”

He bites his lip, the motion quick and nervous. “I—uh… I don’t… I mean, I’ll try, I just—” He pushes his glasses up, the movement clumsy, and you can see the way his hands tremble slightly. “You’re just… you look… wow.” You laugh softly, leaning down until your face is close to his. “Wow, huh?”

He nods quickly, eyes wide. “Yeah. Like… really… wow.” His voice cracks on the last word, and you can’t help but grin. “Good.” Your hands slide slowly down his chest, stopping just above his stomach. “Because you’re about to get some very hands-on practice.”

He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes locking on yours for a brief, unguarded second before darting away again. “O-okay,” he says quietly, the sound almost lost in the small space between you. “I… want to learn.” And God, the way he says it, so earnest, so unsure, like the idea of touching you is both thrilling and terrifying, makes you want to tease him even more.

His fingers are still resting on your hips when you push them higher, pressing his palms against your waist until his thumbs graze the underside of your breasts. You watch the realization bloom across his face, the way his mouth parts slightly, the way his pupils dilate. “Go on,” you coax, arching into his touch.

He hesitates, throat working. “C-Can I…?”

“Sunghoon,” you murmur, leaning down so your nose brushes his. “I told you. You don’t need to ask. Not with me.” Something shifts in him at that, like a string pulled taut finally snapping. His hands slide upward, cupping your tits through the lace, and the strangled sound that leaves him is pure, unfiltered want.  

“That’s it,” you praise, rocking your hips against him. “Feel me. Learn me.”

He swallows hard, thumbs brushing over the stiff peaks beneath the fabric. “You’re—fuck—you’re perfect.”

“Foreplay,” you say in a low, deliberate tone, “isn’t just touching for the sake of touching. It’s about anticipation. About making every nerve in my body ache for you. You have to make me crave you.”

His breath hitches as you guide one of his hands down, over your ribs, your stomach, until his fingertips catch on the thin band of lace at your hip. His gaze flicks up to yours again, that instinct to ask still alive in his eyes. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Just do it.” And for once, he does. His fingers slip beneath the fabric, just barely, enough to make you shiver. He’s tentative at first, tracing the curve of your hip bone, but then he grows bolder, his hand moving to cup the heat between your thighs over the lace.

“God—” you exhale sharply, and he freezes, eyes wide.

“Was that—okay?” You smirk, curling your hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer. “More than okay. Don’t second-guess yourself. If I don’t like something, I’ll tell you. Until then… keep going.”

He nods, jaw tight, and you can feel the tremor in his hand as he presses more firmly, rubbing slow, experimental circles that already make your breath hitch. His other hand remains on your chest, squeezing gently, his touch clumsy but eager, and you can feel him getting harder beneath you with every movement. “See?” you murmur, voice thick with heat. “Foreplay is twofold — you get me worked up, and it works you up, too.”

“I’m—” He cuts himself off with a shaky groan as you grind down on him, the friction making his head fall back against the pillows. “Shit, I’m not gonna last if you keep—”

“That’s part of the lesson, too,” you interrupt, grinning wickedly. “Control. You tease until they can’t take it, but you don’t let them break. Not yet.”

You take his wrist, guiding his fingers under the lace now, against bare skin. His exhale is almost a whimper. “Holy—” He bites his lip so hard you’re almost worried it’ll bleed. “Touch me,” you order softly. “Really touch me.” And when he finally does, tentative strokes turning into something firmer, hungrier, you can tell the shy, hesitant Sunghoon from a few minutes ago is already starting to fade, replaced by someone who’s beginning to understand the power of making you melt under his hands.

You can feel the tremor in his hands as you shift back just enough to delicately pull your straps down. His gaze tracks the movement instantly, like he’s afraid to miss a single second “You—” His voice cracks, the flush in his cheeks deepening. “You’re really—”

“Mm-hm,” you hum, slow and deliberate as you pull the fabric all the way down, unhooking the clasp and letting it drop somewhere off the bed. His eyes go glassy, lips parted like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory. 

He moves like he’s in a trance, both hands sliding up your sides until his thumbs graze the undercurve of your breasts again. This time, there’s no faltering, he cups you fully, kneading with an uncertain rhythm but more pressure than before, learning what makes your breath catch. “Better,” you murmur against his mouth, letting your tongue just barely trace his lower lip before pulling away again. 

You trail your hands down his chest until you reach the hem of his hoodie, then slip beneath it, fingers splaying over firm muscle hidden under soft skin. He makes a sound, half groan, half whimper, when you push the hoodie up, and you catch the way his arms lift obediently so you can strip it off him completely. The sight of him, pale skin, lean lines, a slight curve of muscle down his abdomen has you biting your lip. He’s beautiful in a way that’s almost unfair, all awkward tension and raw need. “You’re staring,” he says, but it’s not an accusation.

“Yeah,” you reply simply, palms sliding over his bare shoulders. “I am.”  You press your body fully to his now, the heat between you near unbearable. The way his breath stutters when you grind down just slightly makes you smirk.

“Lesson two,” you murmur, letting your nails lightly drag down his sides, “is that foreplay isn’t just with your hands. Your whole body can tease.” You roll your hips again, slower this time, and his head tips back, throat working as if he’s swallowing down a sound. You take advantage, leaning in to press your lips to the line of his jaw, then his throat, letting your teeth scrape lightly before soothing the spot with your tongue.

“F-fuck—” The curse leaves him like he didn’t mean to, his hands tightening on your waist.

“You like that?” you ask, low, almost taunting.

He nods quickly, almost desperately. “Yeah. Please don’t stop.”

“Good,” you breathe, kissing down to his collarbone. “Because we’re not even halfway through the lesson yet.” You guide one of his hands back to the warmth between your thighs again, urging him under the lace once again, this time pressing his fingers exactly where you want them. The groan that tears out of him when he feels you, hot, wet, aching is so raw it makes you shiver. “Keep going,” you whisper against his ear. “Match my rhythm.”

When you start to grind into his hand, he tries to follow, still clumsy but catching on fast, his breathing turning ragged as he realizes what he’s doing to you. You can feel the hard press of him beneath you, insistent, almost painful, and you know he’s close to losing it. “That’s it,” you praise, voice low and dripping heat. “Learn me. Make me beg for you.”

His breath is jagged now, his lips parted as if he can’t pull in enough air. You can feel his pulse hammering through the hand you’ve guided between your thighs, each brush of his fingers making your own chest tighten.

“God—” he mutters, the word shaky, almost reverent. “You feel…” He trails off, like the rest is too filthy for him to even voice.

“Say it,” you coax, biting softly at the edge of his jaw. “No censoring. I told you; foreplay isn’t shy.”

“You feel so fucking good,” he blurts, and the sound of it, the curse wrapped in that breathless tone, shoots straight through you. 

“That’s better,” you murmur, and in reward, you press your hips harder into his hand, grinding slow enough to make him squirm beneath you. He tries to match the pace, still finding his rhythm, still rough around the edges, but each mistake is delicious, another chance to guide him with a moan or the press of your hand over his. When you pull back just enough to look at him, he’s flushed all the way down his neck, hair sticking to his forehead, lips wet and swollen from your earlier kisses. It makes you want to ruin him completely.

You lean forward, catching his mouth again, but this time you deepen it instantly, no slow build, no teasing edge. You kiss him like you own him, tongue sliding against his until he groans into you, his free hand digging into your waist as though to keep you from pulling away. His hands move up, bolder now, dragging from your hips to your ribs before cupping your breasts again. He squeezes, thumbs brushing over your nipples,and the shiver that runs through you makes him groan, like he’s just discovered a cheat code.

“That’s it,” you breathe, rolling your hips against the hard line of him beneath you. “Use your hands, your mouth… keep me wanting more.” He swallows hard, then leans up to kiss along your collarbone, down to the swell of your chest. The first brush of his lips against your skin is clumsy but when you gasp, genuine and sharp, he does it again, harder this time, teeth catching before his tongue soothes over the spot.

Your head tips back. “Good boy.” The praise seems to short-circuit him, his hips buck under you without permission, his hand between your thighs pressing harder. You let him, riding the movement slow enough to keep him just on the edge of losing control.

Every sound that leaves him is more desperate than the last, small curses, half-formed groans, your name like a plea. You’re soaked now, every grind against his palm making your thighs tremble, but you hold the reins, watching him fall apart under you. “You’re learning fast,” you whisper, leaning down until your lips brush his ear. “But we’re not done yet.” He’s still fisting your tits, squeezing and circling your pebbled nipples. 

“Good,” you breathe, guiding his head down with a hand in his hair. “Now—use your mouth.”

He obeys without hesitation, closing his lips around one peak and sucking tentatively before letting his tongue flick against it. You gasp, arching into him, and the sound makes him groan against your skin. His other hand works the opposite breast, fingers rolling gently, finding what makes you twitch. “That’s it,” you murmur, one hand clutching his hair tighter, the other still guiding the rhythm of his fingers between your thighs. “Keep me wanting. Keep me—” 

A sudden grind of his palm against your clit cuts your sentence into a moan. When you pull back to look at him, his lips are glossy, chin damp from the trail his mouth left over your skin, and his breathing is uneven. You can see him fighting the urge to rut up into you, his hips twitching beneath yours, his erection straining against his jeans. 

You rock against him deliberately, the friction enough to make his eyes flutter shut, a curse slipping out low under his breath. “Fuck—” he groans, hands tightening on your hips. “I’m— I don’t know how long—”

You smirk, leaning down until your lips hover over his. “You’re not coming yet,” you tell him, your voice like silk over steel. “Not until I say so.” He whimpers, an actual, desperate sound — and it shoots heat straight through you. His hands roam over you more frantically now, trying to memorize the weight and feel of every inch. “Lesson’s not over,” you tease, shifting just enough that his cock is perfectly lined up against the soaked heat of you, the only thing between you and his skin the thin fabric of your panties and his jeans. You grind down slowly, and his head falls back with a broken groan.

“Feel that?” you whisper in his ear. “That’s what you get when you know exactly how to build someone up.” He nods frantically, but his hands are shaking now, fingers digging into your thighs like he’s barely holding it together.

You kiss him again, filthy, wet, tongues tangling until he’s gasping for breath. Your chest presses to his, bare skin on skin, the heat between you unbearable. Every movement, every little grind, keeps him teetering at the edge but never falling “Please,” he finally whispers, so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“Mmm, not yet,” you murmur, biting his lower lip before pulling back. “We’re going to stop here… so you can remember exactly how much you want it.” When you slide off his lap, he’s wrecked, flushed, lips swollen, breathing ragged, and his jeans painfully tight. His hands twitch like he doesn’t know whether to pull you back or bury his face in them. 

You grin wickedly. “Next lesson,” you promise, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth, “we’ll see how long you can last when I really push you.” 

A few days after Sunghoon left, you found yourself replaying every second of that night over and over in your mind. His wide eyes, the way his hands trembled at first, and the slow, almost desperate pressure of his fingers as he learned exactly how to touch you, it made you shiver even thinking about it. Every text you’d exchanged since then only heightened it. Each small photo you sent, each teasing comment he replied with, made you pulse with heat and anticipation. He was learning fast, becoming bolder, more confident… yet still adorably nervous, fumbling over words, asking questions in little bursts of “uh… is this okay?” or “should I…?” every time you pushed him to try a new touch. 

Exams had finally ended, giving you a little more freedom. You could feel the itch in your mind and your body, the need to take Sunghoon’s next lesson to its inevitable conclusion. There was a thrill in watching him grow more confident with each interaction, knowing that tonight would be the night he finally crossed that line into something he’d never done before. The thought made your pulse race, the fluttering in your stomach a mix of anticipation and wicked excitement. You grinned at your reflection in the mirror, carefully adjusting the curve of your lips into a teasing smirk as your hand brushed over your hair, imagining the look on his face when he saw you again.

By mid-afternoon, you had a plan. The first lesson had gone flawlessly, teaching him to watch, teasing him with every word, every stroke, every subtle movement of your body. The second had taken him to the edge, letting him touch you, guiding him through every touch, every gasp, every shiver. Tonight would be the culmination, and you wanted it to be slow, deliberate, heated, and unforgettable. You pictured the moment you’d open the door to him, his shy, crooked-glasses grin, that flush rising into his neck and ears, the nervous tremor in his hands. It made your own body ache in anticipation. You were already assembling the tools of the night, pulling out the lingerie you knew would drive him wild, selecting the sex toys you wanted him to watch you with, and setting the lights just right so the shadows would flirt with your curves. Even the scent of your favorite candle flickering in the corner seemed to add to the tension in the room, filling the air with a soft, intoxicating aroma that made your pulse race. Every detail was meticulously planned, every inch of the lesson calculated to make him desperate for you.

When your phone buzzed, your stomach flipped. A single text from him: “On my way. Nervous… but excited.” You smiled at the tiny quiver in his words, the perfect mix of need and innocence. You typed back quickly, keeping it teasing: “I hope you’re ready. Tonight, you’re going to learn everything… and I mean everything.” A thrill ran through you, and you leaned back, letting your fingers brush over your skin just slightly, imagining his wide, eager eyes following your every move. You had a feeling that tonight, once the door closed behind him, the shy, nerdy, inexperienced boy who had first walked in trembling would be transformed, if only slightly, into someone bold enough to finally touch you the way you deserved.

And as the clock ticked closer to his arrival, you could feel your body tensing in anticipation, each heartbeat loud in your chest, your mind running through the lessons again. Every touch, every moan, every gasp you’d drawn from him before would culminate tonight, and you were ready to make it unforgettable. The knock at your door was punctual, exactly 7:00 p.m. and when you swung it open, there he was. Sunghoon, looking slightly disheveled, hair sticking up at odd angles like he’d run his fingers through it a dozen times, glasses crooked and cheeks flushed with nervous anticipation. But there was something different in his eyes tonight, a spark that hadn’t been there before. It was subtle, but unmistakable. Excitement. Curiosity. A hunger that mirrored your own.

“Hey,” you greeted him, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Not the mischievous, predatory grin of last time, but wholesome, excited, the kind that made him flush even harder. “You made it. How are you feeling?”

For the first time since you’d met him, Sunghoon didn’t stumble over his words. He took a deep breath, straightened his crooked glasses with an almost comical flourish, and said, “I… I’m ready. I’ve been looking forward to this.” His voice was still soft, still tentative, but there was an underlying confidence now, a quiet thrill that made your chest tighten. You couldn’t help it,  you laughed softly, that sound wrapping around him like a warm embrace. “Look at you! You’re growing up so fast, huh?” you teased, reaching forward to boop his nose, making him flinch and sputter a little before he laughed nervously himself.

“Y-you’re… wow,” he muttered, eyes flicking around your room, drinking in the flickering candlelight, the subtle curve of your shoulders, the carefully chosen lingerie peeking out from the silky robe you wore. He swallowed hard, and you could almost see the tension building in him, like he was both terrified and desperate to dive in all at once.You reached for his hand, guiding him gently to the couch. “Sit, silly. Before we dive into the… main event,” you said, your voice lowering to that sultry timbre you knew sent shivers down his spine. “You’ve worked so hard these past two lessons, and before the real fun begins, you deserve a little reward. A warm-up, if you will.”

His eyes widened, a little pink blooming in his cheeks as he complied, sitting down and fidgeting nervously, hands clasped tightly in his lap. His nerves were still there, yes, but his eagerness was tangible now, you could see it in the way he leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on you, barely breathing as if every exhale would make him miss something crucial. You climbed onto the arm of the couch, leaning in close to whisper just loud enough for him to hear, letting the heat of your body brush against him. “Tonight,” you murmured, lips grazing his ear, “we’re going to take everything you’ve learned and turn it up. But first… we’re going to explore a little reward. Just for you. You earned it.”

Sunghoon’s head tilted slightly, lips parting, a small, breathless sound escaping him. “I… I don’t know if I'm confident in what I can do” he admitted, voice low and vulnerable, the slightest tremor betraying how badly he wanted you.

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered, letting your fingers brush along the line of his jaw, down his neck. “All you have to do is watch, listen, and follow. Trust me, I’ll guide you every step of the way.” He nodded, the little tremble of his shoulders giving away the battle between excitement and nerves raging inside him. And as he sat there, utterly captivated, you could feel the anticipation coil tight inside both of you, ready to snap as the night stretched ahead, every second weighted with possibility. 

You shift slightly on the couch, letting your robe slide just a bit off your shoulder, revealing the lace of your bra underneath. His eyes nearly pop out of his head, a low gasp escaping him before he quickly ducks his gaze, cheeks flaming. “I—” he stammers, fingers fidgeting in his lap as if he’s not sure whether to look or to kneel right there in awe.

You chuckle softly, reaching out to lift his chin with a gentle finger. “Look at me, Sunghoon. You don’t have to hide. Tonight… tonight this is all for you.” 

His lips part, eyes flicking to yours, then down to the lace of your bra again. “Y-you… you look so… beautiful,” he breathes, voice trembling. “I… I want to… I want to touch, but I… I don’t know if I should.” 

You tilt your head, a teasing smirk playing on your lips. “Shh… you don’t have to ask. Not tonight. Just follow my lead. Your reward… starts now.” You inch closer, letting your hand trail along your thigh, brushing just over the delicate lace of your panties. His breathing hitches, a low groan slipping past him, fingers twitching, longing to follow but obeying your silent rule. You slide your hand under your bra, brushing over your nipple, letting it harden under your fingers as he swallows audibly. His hands twitch, pressing into his thighs as he struggles to contain the heat building in him. “I… I want… I want to…,” he stammers, cheeks red, lips parted.

“Not yet,” you purr, brushing a finger down his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath your touch.

He leans forward slightly, eyes locked on your movements as your hand continues to explore, teasing yourself in front of him, letting him drink in every inch. “I want more..” 

You smile, tilting your head to look at him, letting your robe slide fully off your shoulders. “Oh, baby… that’s the point. You’ll get more soon, but first… watch me. Learn me. Know exactly what makes me melt, and then, when it’s your turn, you’ll have the knowledge to drive me insane.” His breathing is ragged now, glasses slightly fogged, hands twitching. “Y-you… you’re… I…” He trails off, voice broken with need, cheeks flushed a bright red as he watches you fully, eyes glued to your every movement.

He groans, a little whimper escaping, eyes flicking up to yours with a mix of awe, need, and that adorably shy uncertainty that makes him irresistible. And as you lean back slightly, letting him take it all in. 

“Okay…” Your voice was soft, hesitant, and teasing, and it carried through the dorm room in a way that made the air feel heavy, taut, almost electric. You slid off the couch, letting your knees sink into the plush carpet as you settled between his open thighs. The space was intimate, cramped in all the right ways, and every movement, every breath seemed amplified in the stillness around you. Sunghoon’s gaze found you instantly, wide and dark and impossibly alive, pupils dilated as if he could absorb you whole with just a look. His breathing was uneven, shallow, ragged, the heat pooling at the base of his throat and spilling in little hitches every time his gaze flickered downward. 

“It’s time I help you out a bit,” you murmured, your voice low, deliberate, and sultry, letting the weight of your words press against him before you even touched him. Your fingers found the drawstring of his sweatpants, tugging gently, coaxing, and then you gestured for him to lift his hips just enough. With one fluid motion, you peeled the pants down, letting them fall to the floor in a soft thud. His gasp, sharp and ragged, filled the room, reverberating against the walls.

“O-oh…” His voice cracked, high, soft, almost helpless, and it tugged something deep in your chest. He gripped the couch arms so tightly his knuckles were white, the tension in his body radiating like heat off a flame. You smiled at him then, a smile that was soft and wholesome and innocent in all the ways that made your actions feel deliciously wicked by contrast. Sliding a hand beneath his boxers, you freed him, letting the full weight of him rest in your palm.

He was bigger than you expected. Your breath hitched involuntarily at the feel, the sheer substance of him, warm and taut in your grip. A soft gasp left your lips, and you caught the brief flash of confusion in his eyes, his cheeks blooming pink, a warm flush that made him look almost untouchably vulnerable. His innocence, paired with the raw, undeniable need in his gaze, was intoxicating. The thought that you were the one who drew this out of him made something coil tight in your chest. “Tonight… it’s all about you,” you whispered, dragging your hand slowly along his length, deliberate, teasing, savoring the tremor that shot through him at your touch. He hissed, an involuntary reaction, lifting his hips slightly as if asking for more, only for your free hand to press him back down firmly, insistently.

“Stay still,” you tsked, sharp, yet playful, your voice a velvet whip across the tension building between you. Leaning forward, you let a small drop of spit slip from your lips onto your palm, slick and ready. “Can you do that for me?” His nod was immediate, almost jittery, and it made a soft, amused laugh bubble from your chest. You returned to him, your hand moving with deliberate rhythm, taking in every moan, whimper, and curse. Every sound he made was music, a symphony of need, and you let it thread through you, slow and thick like honey.

For a single, teasing moment, you let go, shifting just enough to slide your bra down and let your breasts spill free, pale skin against the dim light, soft curves framed by delicate lace. His eyes found you instantly, glass fogging slightly as his shallow breaths brushed against them, lips parting in silent hunger. “Do you like them?” you asked, voice low, velvety, coaxing.

“Yes,” he breathed, short, forced, the word heavy with want and need, his eyes dark with desire.

“I’m going to use them to make you cum,” you whispered, deliberately, sultrily. “Then my mouth… and then…” You tilted your lips, letting the word linger, “…my pussy.”

His breath hitched audibly. “I—ok…” The words faltered, trapped in the roughness of his throat, hands still gripping the couch, hips trembling, quivering under your touch.

You leaned in, pressing your breasts around him, holding his gaze, letting your weight shift just enough that every movement drew a sharp gasp from him. His voice was raw and ragged, visceral, the sound vibrating against your chest as you moved with slow, deliberate rhythm. Your moans interlaced with his, soft and teasing, coaxing him higher, urging him to abandon control “You like that, baby?” you murmured, breath warm against his skin, teasing, insistent, rolling the words over him like a promise he couldn’t resist.

“Yes—fuck yes,” he gasped, thighs quivering, hips twitching under the pressure, body tight with need.

“Are you going to cum for me?” you asked, tilting your lips into a slow, knowing smirk. His eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat, then snapped open, impossibly bright and desperate, unable to look away from where he disappeared between your breasts. “Y-yes… don’t stop,” he breathed, voice ragged, uneven, unsteady. And you didn’t. You didn’t stop. Not for a second. You moved with rhythm and intent, coaxing, teasing, holding him tight, every motion punctuated with soft, deliberate moans, whispers, and sighs.

And then it came. His release was sudden, hot, unrelenting, shuddering through him, spilling across your chest and face. The sound, the sight, the feel, it wrapped around you both, thick and electric, leaving the air between you taut, humming with aftershocks of heat and intimacy. “That’s it…” you murmured, slowing just enough to let him ride it out, murmuring praise and soft words that tangled with his ragged breaths. “That’s perfect… so good, baby. Just like that.” Even after the tremors subsided, you lingered, hands brushing lightly, teasingly, over his still-quivering thighs, letting the warmth, the smell, the rhythm of his heartbeat, sink in. Every small shudder, every ragged breath left an imprint, and you knew the night had only just begun. 

You let him catch his breath, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers twitched against the couch cushions. Slowly, deliberately, you pushed yourself off the floor. “Just watch, okay?” you murmured, a teasing, almost wicked smile curling at your lips. The words hung between you, light and soft, but charged with heat, and he swallowed audibly, wide-eyed, glasses slightly fogging from his quickened breaths.

You began to shed your lingerie, one piece at a time, making the act deliberate and visible. First the bra, letting the lace slip over your shoulders, the soft curves of your breasts revealed gradually, teasing him with every inch. Then your panties, sliding them slowly down your legs so that every movement was on display, a silent promise of what was to come. Each motion was deliberate, an invitation. Sunghoon’s breathing hitched, uneven and ragged, eyes dark and fixed on you, tracking every motion, every shiver of skin and curve of your body. He was caught between awe and need, anticipation and hunger, and you could see it in the way his pupils dilated, the slight tremble in his thighs, the way his hands flexed against the couch.

“I’m going to make you cum with my mouth now, okay?” you whispered, voice low, intimate, thick with desire. His nod was quick, desperate, almost jerky, and he murmured, “Please.” It was a plea, a surrender, and it sent a thrill through you. You fell back to your knees before him, letting your hands trail lightly along his thighs, feeling the heat radiating off him, grounding yourself in the tension of the moment.

“You’re so fucking pretty…” he sighed, fingers finding your jaw, threading through your hair, sending shivers down your spine. His voice carried need and wonder, almost disbelief at having you there, beneath him, for him. 

“Yeah…” you murmured, shy and teasing at once. “Is that why you’re my top tipper?” The question drew a flicker of surprise across his expression, quickly replaced by heat, by pride, by something urgent and raw that made your chest tighten.

“You’re expensive,” he said, the words deliberate, surprising you, and yet there was a heat behind them. “But it’s worth it.” Your hands found him again, slicking a single drop of spit over his shaft before your mouth descended, warm and wet, taking him in. A sharp gasp tore from his lips as your mouth wrapped around him, slow at first, teasing, exploring, tasting. You bobbed your head along his length, tracing with your tongue, letting him feel the wet, soft friction of your lips. He shuddered immediately, hips jerking involuntarily, fingers tangling in your hair, desperate to hold you closer, to feel every inch.

You moved with deliberate rhythm, lips gliding, tongue teasing, one hand exploring along the curve of his hips, the sensitive skin just above his thighs, letting every flick, every glide, every small suck send sparks of sensation through him. His breaths grew ragged, gasps spilling over each other, curses and whimpers mingling as he tried, desperately, to find control. And you let him lose it. Slowly, you pushed him higher, deeper, drawing his pleasure out like a master sculptor, savoring the shiver that ran along his spine at each motion. Your lips, tongue, and hand worked in tandem, coaxing, teasing, and urging him toward the edge. Each gasp, each moan, each quiver of his hips was music, a rhythm that you matched, prolonging his anticipation, stretching every second, letting desire coil tighter between you.

“Cum for me, baby,” you whispered finally, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, lips glistening, eyes dark with want. His response was immediate, sharp, ragged, a shuddering, desperate release that left him trembling in your hands and chest, hot and slick, every gasp, every quiver a testament to the pleasure you’d coaxed from him. Even after the tremors subsided, you lingered, hands brushing lightly, teasingly, over his thighs, feeling the subtle shivers that still ran through him. His eyes, hooded and heavy-lidded, met yours with a mix of awe and want, a silent, raw acknowledgment of the intimacy you’d just shared. The warmth lingered between you, heavy and electric, wrapping around the small dorm room like a living thing, leaving the promise of more still hanging in the air. 

You leaned back slightly, letting your fingers trail lightly along his abdomen, the curve of his hips, the sensitive places just beneath the surface, watching him struggle to catch his breath, watching the way his body was still pulsing, still hungry. You smiled softly to yourself, teasing him silently, enjoying the tension that crackled between you like static before a storm, knowing the night was far from over, knowing that every gasp, every shiver, every look was just the beginning of what you intended to explore together. 

You smiled at him, a warmth behind it that made your chest tighten slightly. It was a genuine, open smile, soft and tender after the whirlwind of pleasure you’d just shared. His breathing was slowly returning to normal, though the subtle hitch in his chest told you just how close he had been to losing himself entirely. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice quiet but sincere. For someone who had never done this before, holding up after two orgasms in barely twenty minutes was impressive, hell, even someone experienced might have faltered. Sunghoon met your gaze and returned your smile, one of those soft, shy smiles that carried a quiet confession: he was enjoying every second of this, and more importantly, he trusted you.

It wasn’t just about sex. It wasn’t a lesson, an obligation, or a performance. It was light, natural, and almost playful. The room seemed smaller somehow, closer, the space between you charged with electricity but somehow safe, easy, like there were no expectations other than the mutual pleasure simmering between your bodies. “If your pussy feels even half as good as your mouth and tits did…” he murmured, voice low, thick with want, “I might just die.” The words were so unexpected, so adorably earnest, that laughter spilled from your lips, musical and unrestrained. His confession hung between you like a joke, ridiculous and sweet, and the tension that had been there only moments before dissipated entirely.

“I’ve heard it’s tight,” you teased, tone playful, voice thick with intent, “so… buckle up.”

He flinched, a small groan of mock horror leaving him, but the humor didn’t leave his expression. “Did you just tell me to… buckle up for your pussy?” he laughed, incredulous, yet his eyes betrayed how much he was already imagining it.

“I guess I did,” you admitted, a giggle breaking through, letting the words linger like a dare. It was a game, and you could feel his confidence growing with every shared glance, every tease. You loved the way he leaned into it, shedding nervousness layer by layer, replaced with raw desire and a hunger that made your pulse race.

Rising from your knees, you walked toward him with a confidence he had seen countless times before, but tonight carried a different weight. Tonight, it wasn’t playful foreplay or a teasing experiment. Tonight, you were going all the way. You straddled his lap, bare heat pressing against him, and the sudden contact made your breath hitch, sharp and involuntary.

“I reallyyyy hope it fits,” you murmured, voice mock-innocent, grinding slightly, feeling him shift beneath you. “It’s so fucking big.” The playful teasing vanished from his expression immediately, replaced with that vulnerable, nervous look you knew all too well. “Fuck…” he whispered, words almost lost in the tightness of his throat, “don’t say that.”

“Why not?” you teased again, rocking against him, just enough to make him gasp. His eyes flickered downward as the tip of him brushed your clit, and a sharp, wet gasp tore from your lips.

“Fucking… you’re going to make me cum like this,” he hissed, teeth gritted, voice thick with need.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered back, hips lifting slightly to align him perfectly with your entrance. Then, without warning, you sank down sharply, taking him fully, hot and hard, every inch of him filling you in a way that made your knees wobble and your stomach tighten. A broken moan left his lips, and your own gasp followed, sharp, trembling, filled with heat. “You can cum inside me instead.” 

“So fucking full,” you breathed, rocking back slowly, giving him time to adjust to the sensation of being inside you for the first time. Every nerve ending sang with awareness, the friction, the stretch, the delicious weight of him pressing against your walls. You reached for his hand and guided it to rest on your lower stomach, letting him feel the hard outline of his cock inside you, pulsing and insistent. “You’re right there.” 

“Holy fuck,” he muttered, glasses fogged, chest heaving, voice ragged. You laughed softly, hands lifting to pluck them from his face, dropping them onto your own nose as a playful joke. The sight of you in his glasses made him flush deeper, adding a new layer of intimacy to the moment.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he groaned, words strained, almost lost in his desperate breaths.

“Yeah? You like it when I wear your glasses, baby?” you teased, rocking slightly, hands finding his shoulders as you lifted and then slammed back down, setting a rhythm that was slow, deliberate, punishingly sensual.

“Oh my god…” His voice cracked, fingers brushing clumsily against your clit, sending sparks of heat straight through you. “Oh my fucking—”

You lifted yourself again and fell back down, establishing a rhythm, slow and sensual at first, skin slapping against skin, the wet, rhythmic sounds of your bodies filling the room. Your moans intertwined with his groans, building in crescendo, thick and heavy, and your body began to tremble in time with him. “Beg me,” you whimpered, leaning forward, gripping his hips, grinding down harder, pressing him further into your wet heat. “Beg me to let you cum.”

“Please…” His voice was desperate, raw, almost ragged. Fingers digging into your hips as he tried to anchor himself, “Please… let me cum. Please, please, please.”

“Are you a good boy?” you murmured, breathless, voice low and coaxing. “Do you deserve it, Sunghoon?”

“I deserve it,” he chanted, urgency layering his words. “Fuck, baby… please… I deserve it.”

“Okay…” you whispered, voice soft, teasing, commanding. “You can cum.” The words were a spark. His cock throbbed violently inside you, pulsing against your walls as he let go, shuddering and gasping, hot, wet, trembling, and leaving streaks of heat deep inside you. The sensation pushed you to the edge in response, high-pitched, shaking moans escaping as your thighs quivered and your vision blurred. 

You didn’t move immediately afterward, letting your bodies rest together, feeling his heartbeat slow beneath your chest, the warmth of him pressed against you. The room was quiet, except for ragged breaths and faint sighs, the lingering heat of your joined desire almost tangible. Every shiver, every small twitch of his body against yours, every soft moan left an imprint, and you felt a deep, lingering connection in that shared, electric aftermath. You let yourself linger there a moment longer, the memory of every gasp, every whimper, every broken moan wrapping around you both like a private, intimate thread. 

The next day you’d been pacing your tiny dorm room all afternoon, your head buzzing not from caffeine, but from the memory of last night, the weight of Sunghoon’s hands clutching at you like he might float away without the anchor of your body, the desperate, breathless sounds you’d coaxed from him, the almost startled wonder in his eyes when it was over. Every time you thought about it, about him, a warmth coiled low in your stomach, and you caught yourself smiling at nothing. It wasn’t just the intimacy, it was the way he’d trusted you, the way he’d looked at you like you were the first person who had ever really seen him. And tonight was supposed to be round two. A little different. More deliberate. A performance. Your subscribers had been getting restless, and you were ready to give them exactly what they wanted, with Sunghoon as your star. The idea of filming with him lit up a wicked spark in you. He’d gotten more confident, more willing to play along with the little teases you sent through text. This time, you wanted to push him, to show him just how much fun he could have.

Your hair was half-done and your outfit laid out when the knock came. You frowned at the clock, half an hour early. Sunghoon was punctual, sometimes to a fault, but never early. Still, you padded to the door, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face and grinning, already imagining his shy smile on the other side. You swung the door open mid-greeting. “Hey—”

Your smile fell so fast it was almost painful. “Oh. …What the hell are you doing here?” It wasn’t Sunghoon. It was Heeseung. Standing in your doorway, shifting from foot to foot like he’d run here but was now unsure if he should even be standing on your threshold.

“I—” he started, voice uneven. “I just… I have to tell you something, okay?”

You blinked at him, already feeling your pulse climb for all the wrong reasons. “Heeseung, can this wait? I’m actually—”

“No, I just—” He stepped forward before you could stop him, brushing past you into the room like he’d been given permission. “I have to say this now, or I never will.”

Your patience was fraying. The whole situation was wrong. “What the fuck, Heeseung? You can’t just—”

“I’m in love with you.”The words hit like a glass shattering in your kitchen, abrupt, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

“What?” It was all you could say, your mind momentarily frozen staring at the boy in front of you like he’d had pulled a rug from under your feet, and he did. 

He met your gaze, jaw tight, shoulders squared as if bracing himself for the impact. “I’m in love with you. That’s why I blew up at you when you told me you were going to sleep with someone else. I wasn’t mad about that—well, I was, but—” He let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for weeks. “I was jealous.”

Your mouth went dry. You had expected anything but this. “Heeseung…” you started, voice softer now, because despite everything, you did care about him. Just not like that. “I’m sorry. I—” 

“We were sleeping together for six months,” he cut in, voice breaking just enough to twist your stomach. “You have to feel something for me.”

You shook your head slowly, feeling the weight of each movement. “It’s not like that. It was never like that for me.” He was pacing now, hands buried in his hair like he could pull the frustration right out of his skull. “Are you in love with someone else?”

“No—” You started, the words barely leaving your lips before he’s speaking again, desperate and urgent. Like he was reaching for your heart, trying to latch onto it and hold on, no matter how much you didn’t want him to. 

“Then we can try. We can make it work.” His voice cracked at the edges, a plea hiding under the demand. 

“No, Heeseung.” The firmness in your voice surprised even you. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t feel that way about you. I only see you as a friend. Nothing else.” The words landed like stones in the silence that followed. He stopped moving, just… looked at you, really looked, as if searching for some sign that you were lying. But your face didn’t change, and eventually, something in his shoulders seemed to give. He nodded once, slow, defeated. “Okay.” His voice was quieter now. “Okay.” and it hurts you. It hurt you so bad because no matter how much you didn’t feel like that towards him, he was still your friend. He was still someone you had spent so much time with. 

You had to remind yourself that this was all a part of the agreement you both had shared, the rules you had set into place for a reason. He was breaking them, not you. “Really—Heeseung…i’m sorry—” the words fell on your tongue because without another word, another whisper or another breath he stepped toward the door, pulling it open. He didn’t slam it. He didn’t look back. He just left. 

The door clicked shut, and you stood there for a moment, still staring at it like it might swing back open. Then the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out of you in a shaky sigh. You were alone again, but the thrill of anticipation from earlier had drained completely. The thought of filming tonight, of coaxing Sunghoon in front of the camera, no longer set your pulse racing. Instead, all you could feel was the ghost of tension clinging to your skin like static. You hadn’t even felt yourself move to your bedroom until you sat on the edge of your bed, staring blankly at the faint lines of light crawling in through your blinds. The air felt heavier than it should, clinging to your skin in that way it always does after a conversation you didn’t want to have. Your heart still hadn’t slowed from the collision with Heeseung’s words. You’d meant it when you told him you didn’t feel that way, but the sharpness in his voice, the disbelief in his eyes, lingered like smoke in your lungs. You hated hurting people, even when you knew you’d done the right thing.

You picked up your phone, staring at the black screen for a long moment before unlocking it. Your thumb hovered over Sunghoon’s contact picture, the candid one you’d taken when he wasn’t looking, cheeks flushed pink, hair a little messy, wearing that shy smile that made you melt without meaning to. For a second, you debated not calling. It felt selfish to reach for someone’s light just because yours had dimmed. But then again… Sunghoon had never once made you feel like a burden. The line rang twice before you heard his voice, soft, almost hesitant, like he was afraid he might be interrupting you.  “Hello?” 

“Hey,” you murmured, and despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your lips just from hearing him. “I’m… sorry, Sunghoon.”

He immediately sounded concerned. “Sorry? For what?”

“I have to cancel tonight,” you said, your voice gentler than you expected it to be. “I’m just… not feeling the best.” There wasn’t a pause of irritation, no hint of disappointment. Just warmth. “That’s okay. Really. Don’t worry about it.”

Something in your chest loosened at how easy he made it. “Thank you.”

“Is… everything okay?” His tone shifted, still soft, but now carrying that subtle undercurrent of worry you’d learned to recognize in him.

You exhaled slowly, twisting the edge of your blanket between your fingers. “No. Not right now. But… I will be. Eventually. There was a quiet hum from his end of the line, like he was thinking hard about what to say. Then, so softly it almost got lost in the static, “Do you… maybe want to have a movie night instead? Just as friends. No pressure.”

The suggestion startled you — in the best way. Your mind, which had been crawling with static and leftover tension from earlier, suddenly found something warm to hold onto. “A movie night?” you repeated, and you could hear the faint nervousness in his breath when he answered.

“Yeah. I can bring snacks. We can watch something dumb. No expectations. Just… keep each other company.”

Your smile broke through before you could stop it, and it felt genuine for the first time all day. “That… actually sounds perfect. Yes. Please.” His relief was almost tangible in his laugh, quiet and boyish. “Okay. I’ll be over in twenty. I’m bringing all the snacks I can carry.”

“Twenty?” you teased lightly, trying to ignore the way your chest was feeling lighter already. “What, are you teleporting here?”

“Maybe,” he replied, a shy grin in his voice. “You’ll just have to see.” You hung up with a goofy smile stretching across your face, the kind that felt out of place after the heaviness of earlier, but you weren’t going to question it. Sunghoon had a way of making the air feel easier to breathe, and tonight, that was exactly what you needed.

You’d changed into the comfiest clothes you owned, a pair of worn-in sweats and a soft oversized hoodie that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and your favorite vanilla lotion. The kind of clothes that made you feel safe, shielded from the heaviness of the day. As the popcorn began to pop in the microwave, filling the kitchen with that buttery, salty scent, you felt yourself starting to unwind. By the time there was a gentle knock at the door, you were already smiling without realizing it. You giggled softly to yourself, the sound foreign but welcome in your chest. “It’s open!” you called out, turning toward the counter to grab a bowl for the popcorn.

The door creaked open slowly, almost like he was afraid to intrude. Sunghoon stepped inside with that shy, almost hesitant smile that somehow never failed to soften you. His hair looked slightly mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it on the way over, and his glasses caught the light as he pushed them up the bridge of his nose. In his hands, he held up a slightly crinkled grocery bag like a peace offering. “Uh… I, um… brought the snacks,” he said, his voice gentle, almost tentative, like he wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do but hoped it would make you happy anyway. You practically hopped toward him, unable to help yourself. Your mood, still dampened from earlier, shifted instantly, like the first break in the clouds after a storm. You couldn’t explain why his presence did that to you, and you weren’t about to dig too deep into it tonight. Instead, you just smiled, wide and real. “You’re the best,” you said, looking up at him in a way that made his ears turn faintly pink. 

“The popcorn’s in the microwave,” you added, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Go pick a movie, and I’ll be right there.”

“O-okay,” he replied quickly, nodding as though he was accepting some important mission. He shifted the bag to one arm and pushed his glasses up again, an endearing little habit you’d noticed he did when he was trying to avoid staring at you too long. Without another word, he padded into the living room, sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor before his footsteps softened on the rug. 

You watched him disappear around the corner before leaning against the counter, the faint hum of the microwave filling the otherwise quiet apartment. Of course, your mind betrayed you, flashing briefly to Heeseung, his smirk, his voice, the mess of emotions he left in his wake. But you shook your head, forcing that thought into the farthest corner of your mind. Not tonight. Tonight wasn’t about the tangled mess of that situation. Tonight was about comfort, and about spending time with Sunghoon in a way that wasn’t wrapped in tension and heat. A night free of the weight of expectation. You let out a breath you’d been holding, turning toward the microwave just as it beeped. 

You sank into the couch beside Sunghoon, your knee brushing his as you tucked yourself into the cushions. The movie’s opening credits flickered to life, soft piano notes filling the room, and then the title card appeared in faded, rainy letters. Twilight. Your lips parted in disbelief before a laugh burst out of you, sharp and incredulous. “Twilight? Really?” you teased, turning to catch the faint blush blooming over his cheeks. He didn’t look embarrassed, though, not really. More like a shy defiance, as though he knew exactly what kind of judgment that title would earn and had already braced himself for it. “It’s a classic trashy film,” he countered, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t care how bad it is, I still love it.” His voice cracked slightly toward the end, the smallest quiver in his tone betraying his nerves. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the teasing or because of you. 

Reaching over, you stole a handful of popcorn from the bowl balanced between you, tossing a few kernels into your mouth with an exaggerated shrug. “Fine,” you said through a playful chew. “As long as you’re team Edward.” That earned you a full-body cringe and a sheepish, guilty look. He didn’t even have to say it; you knew. You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest in mock horror before twisting so you were on your knees, facing him directly. “No way. No way you’re team Jacob. That doesn’t even exist.” 

He squinted at you, half-confused, half-amused. “What do you mean it doesn’t exist? It literally does.”

“It literally doesn’t,” you argued, leaning forward until your hair spilled over your shoulders. “Bella doesn’t even want Jacob. She always wants Edward. So how could there be a team Jacob? It’s not even real. He was never truly an option, only an unrequited love.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them, and then they hung there, heavy and suddenly sharp. Unrequited love. Your throat tightened. Your thoughts, uninvited and unwelcome, drifted to Heeseung. The memory of his voice from earlier that day, the confession, the raw vulnerability in it, pressed in on you like a bruise. 

Sunghoon’s brows drew together, his glasses slipping a little down the bridge of his nose. “You okay?” he asked softly.

You blinked, trying to shake it off, nodding quickly as you sank back into the couch. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He hesitated, still looking at you like he could see straight through the lie. “Are you sure? I don’t want to pry or anything—”

“How close are you with Heeseung?” you interrupted before you could think better of it.

His answer came after a small pause, like he was weighing how much to share. “We’re… pretty close, I guess. But we’ve got our differences. He’s closer with guys like Jake and Jay.” He pushed his glasses up again, the nervous habit almost comforting in its familiarity.

You exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to the couch cushion between you before you spoke. “Before you got here, Heeseung showed up. Out of nowhere. And… he confessed. Said he was in love with me.” Sunghoon’s expression shifted instantly, first shock, then something quieter. Guilt flickered across his face so quickly you almost missed it. “No,” you said firmly, shaking your head. “Don’t do that. Don’t feel guilty. It’s not like that with Heeseung. Not even a little bit. It was… purely physical. Pleasure. That’s all.”

His gaze didn’t waver, though. “But… isn’t that what this is too?” The question stopped you cold. You stared at him, the words tangled somewhere between your ribs and your tongue. You wanted to say no, to insist this was different, that whatever was unfolding between you didn’t fit neatly into that same category. And yet, you couldn’t explain why.

“I—” you faltered. “I don’t know.” He nodded once, slow and deliberate, but didn’t look away. The air between you seemed to thicken, heavy with unspoken truths. So you looked at him,  really looked. At the faint smudge on his lenses from where his fingers must have brushed them. At the careful slope of his shoulders, still hunched slightly like he didn’t quite know how to take up space. At the soft flush along his cheekbones, the one that deepened whenever you caught him staring. And he was staring, right at you, unblinking. You realized then that the way you felt with Sunghoon wasn’t the way you felt with Heeseung. This was slower, deeper, something that burned instead of sparking. You couldn’t name it. You didn’t have to. 

The space between you dissolved in an instant. You didn’t know who moved first, maybe you both did. All you knew was the sudden, inevitable press of his lips against yours. It wasn’t heated. It wasn’t rushed. It was something else entirely, charged, emotional, threaded with a quiet urgency that said please, don’t look away. You kissed him like you meant it, like the thought of not kissing him had never existed. And he kissed you back the same way, tentative but certain, his fingers tightening just barely against the couch cushion as if he was afraid to touch you too soon. The kiss lingered in the air even after it ended, its ghost still trembling on your lips. Your foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths mingling in the short, tender space between you. Neither of you said a word, there was nothing to say that wouldn’t feel too fragile, too heavy, too real for this moment. You simply stayed like that, suspended in a quiet that felt strangely infinite, eyes locked as if trying to memorize each other without speaking the reason why. His gaze searched yours with something unspoken, soft but intent, like he wanted to see past the noise of your life and right into the marrow of you.

It might have lasted a full minute, maybe two, before Sunghoon broke the silence, not with words, but with a mischievous flicker in his expression. Slowly, his hand lifted from the couch cushion, threading into the bowl of popcorn that had somehow survived the chaos of the last hour. Without breaking eye contact, he plucked a single piece, popped it into his mouth, and gave you the smallest, cheekiest grin. The absurdity of it cracked the tension clean in half. The laugh burst out of you before you could stop it, a loud, ungraceful, unpolished sound that bent you forward slightly. It wasn’t the polite chuckle you gave strangers or the restrained laugh you gave friends; this was the kind of laugh that ripped straight from your chest, the kind that left you breathless and maybe even a little red in the face. Sunghoon’s grin widened instantly, his eyes crinkling as he let his own laugh tumble out, low and warm, syncing with yours until it felt like the two of you were riding the same wave of ridiculous joy. 

You leaned back, still grinning, still trying to catch your breath, and he nudged the bowl toward you like it was some kind of offering, his own way of saying stay here with me, just like this. And you did. The night carried on without any fractures, as though that kiss had been folded neatly into the fabric of your friendship and left there to settle. You watched Twilight all the way through, the two of you throwing in sarcastic commentary between handfuls of popcorn, mocking the glittering vampire reveal, groaning over Bella’s questionable choices, and pausing once or twice so Sunghoon could argue his hopelessly wrong Team Jacob stance. When the credits rolled, neither of you moved, the room lit only by the glow of the TV menu.

Without a word, he queued up another movie, something neither of you had seen but both pretended to have opinions on. The warmth of the couch, the lull of the screen’s flicker, and the steady rhythm of his breathing beside you blurred the edges of time. At some point, you stopped tracking the movie’s plot. Your body relaxed, shoulder brushing his, and the world outside your little bubble slipped further away. When your eyelids grew heavy, you didn’t fight it. Neither did he. By the time the second film’s credits crawled across the screen, you were both asleep, slouched into the cushions, your head tipped just enough toward him that his sleeve brushed your cheek every time he shifted. The popcorn bowl sat abandoned on the coffee table, the last of it going stale in the still air, and the night settled over the two of you like a secret neither of you was ready to name. 

A few days had slipped by since that night, since your lips had brushed his, since Heeseung’s quiet confession had unsettled your heart in ways you hadn’t expected. You’d been left walking around with this strange cocktail of emotions swirling inside you: confused, yes, but also happy. Unreasonably happy, like you’d been let in on a secret no one else could see. Whatever it was between you and Sunghoon, it had shifted. Not in some dramatic, earth-shattering way, but in a subtle, unspoken current. It lingered in the way his eyes found yours more often, in how his voice dipped softer when speaking just to you, in the small smirks that seemed to belong only to you now. And you loved it. God, you loved it.

Which is why today felt like the perfect opportunity to turn the tide just a little further. Filming day. You had been counting down to this one in particular, not for the content itself, but for the surprise you’d prepared for him. He thought it was going to be a normal shoot, business as usual, but oh no… Sunghoon had no idea what he was walking into. 

The idea had come to you like a spark in the dark, something wicked and ridiculous and just suggestive enough to make your stomach tighten with anticipation. You’d gone all in. After hours of hunting through racks and endless online scrolling, you had pieced together what could only be described as the sluttiest professor outfit you could find, short enough, tight enough, and just absurd enough to make him blink twice. The skirt barely reached mid-thigh, black and fitted in a way that promised absolutely no safe bending over. A crisp white blouse clung to you, buttons straining ever so slightly where it tucked into the waistband, the neckline open just enough to tease without giving everything away. Around your neck, a slim black tie dangled loosely, and perched on your face were a pair of identical glasses to his own, the final touch that made you grin at your reflection like you’d just pulled off the perfect crime. 

And because you were you, the details mattered. Your hair had been brushed into sleek perfection, a swipe of bold lipstick painted on like the finishing stroke of a masterpiece. The heels were tall enough to make your calves tighten with every step. You didn’t just want to look like you’d stepped out of some scandalous roleplay fantasy, you wanted to be it. The confident, no-nonsense professor who had just spent hours “teaching” and was now ready for… extracurriculars. 

When Sunghoon arrived, there was no preamble, no lingering at the door. You caught his sleeve in your fingers and tugged him down the hallway like you had something important to show him, and you did. Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you, sealing the two of you inside with the faint hum of the webcam already set up in the corner. You gestured toward it, explaining in a tone that was casual but deliberate, “It’s only going to be focused on our bodies, nothing else. If it catches a face by accident, I’ll blur it. You know how I do things.” You saw the way he glanced at the camera, then back at you, the understanding in his nod. He’d seen your videos before, you didn’t have to convince him. He trusted you. 

“Still need to change,” you said lightly, as if it were nothing. “I’ll be right back.” Before he could say much else, you slipped toward the bathroom, fingers brushing the edge of the desk as you passed, just enough to press the hidden little button on your keyboard. The red recording light blinked to life, unnoticed by him. The thrill of it pulsed in your chest, a spark of mischief curling under your ribs. The bathroom door shut behind you, and you finally let the grin spread across your face. The bag with your chosen outfit waited for you like a delicious secret. You stripped out of your regular clothes and slid into the very, very revealing professor outfit you’d spent hours putting together. You leaned toward the mirror, fluffing your hair until it fell in effortless waves, then reapplied your bright red lipstick, the kind that promised attention and held it hostage. You smoothed your hands over the fabric once more, steadying your breathing. 

You eased the door open with deliberate slowness, the hinges protesting with a faint, high-pitched squeak that seemed to slice through the charged silence of the room. The dim light from the hallway spilled across your bed, catching the faint glint of Sunghoon’s glasses. He sat there waiting, hands resting stiffly on his thighs, eyes wide and unblinking. His lips parted as you stepped inside, his gaze tracking every slow, unhurried movement you made toward him. A grin curved your red-tinted mouth, slow and predatory, the kind of smile that promised trouble and dared him to try and stop you. “Mr. Park…” you murmured, letting his name drip from your tongue like honey, each syllable soaked in suggestion. You reached him in two languid steps, your hands finding his shoulders, palms warm against the cotton of his shirt. You squeezed lightly, nails grazing just enough to make him swallow, hard. “You’ve been… very, very bad.”

The words landed like a spark. You could hear the thick gulp he took, could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your touch. His breath came heavier now, rougher, tangled with nerves. “W–What—god—what is this?” he stuttered, voice catching, and the sound made your pulse thrum harder. His uncertainty didn’t weaken him in your eyes, it made him irresistible. This was your game, and you knew exactly how to play it.

“That’s Professor to you.” Your voice sharpened just slightly on the word, and your fingers slid upward to grip his chin, tilting his face toward yours until his gaze locked with your own, eyes alight, sharp with authority and simmering with need. His gaze dipped almost immediately, drawn helplessly to the sliver of skin visible where your white blouse gaped.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me?” you purred, your breath brushing the curve of his ear before your lips found his neck. You placed feather-light kisses there, each one deliberate, leaving faint red prints from your lipstick on his skin like a trail of claimed territory.

“Y–Yes,” he breathed, almost collapsing forward in his eagerness to touch you, his hands seeking the curve of your waist.

“Yes what?” you hissed, catching his wrists mid-reach and pulling them away from your hips with effortless dominance.

“Yes, Professor.” The words came quick, obedient, and you rewarded him with a slow, almost saccharine smile that only sharpened the edge of your control. 

“Good boy, Mr. Park.” Your fingers threaded through his hair before sliding down over his chest, feeling the subtle tremor in his body, the heat under his shirt. Then, with a gentle but firm push, you guided him back onto the bed. You followed, crawling toward him with the unhurried grace of a predator, each shift of your weight making the mattress dip. He leaned back onto his palms, eyes locked on you, his pupils blown wide. There was calculation there, a silent measuring of your movements, but it was colored with hunger. The way he squirmed under your approach was intoxicating, each small twitch of his thigh, the restless flex of his fingers, the shallow, uneven breaths that told you he wanted you and no one else.

“I could help you with some extra credit,” you said softly, your hand sliding down between his thighs until your fingers found the firm outline pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants. You traced it, slow, deliberate, watching the way his mouth fell open, the breath leaving him in a short, helpless gasp. “All you have to do… is make me cum.”

You gave his cock a firm squeeze through the fabric, feeling the twitch in response, and his head tipped back against the pillows with a strangled moan. “Can you do that, Mr. Park? Can you make me cum?” 

His nod came quick, almost frantic, like a marionette’s head snapping forward on too-tight strings. The desperation in the motion made your pulse quicken. His hands gripped the sheets in tight, white-knuckled fists, chest rising and falling as if he’d run a race. “Then take the reins,” you said, falling back onto the bed, your hair spilling in a dark halo over the pillow. The hem of your skirt rose with the movement, revealing the black crotchless panties you’d chosen just for tonight. His eyes widened instantly, glasses fogging faintly, his lips parting in shock.

“What—”

“It’s your turn,” you interrupted with a knowing smile, curling a finger to beckon him forward. “Use what I taught you. And make me cum. Hard.”

Tentative hands found your hips, his grip firm but shaking slightly. He bunched the fabric of your skirt higher until it gathered at your waist.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, voice shaky with awe. “I could cum just looking at you, Mrs.” The faint whine beneath his words told you he was already teetering. His hands moved up, fingers finding the buttons of your blouse, and with one impatient pull, he tore it open in a single motion. Buttons clattered across the floor, the sound sharp in the still air. You gasped at the suddenness, your bra barely containing the swell of your breasts.

“That was naughty, Mr. Park,” you hissed, reaching for his wrists, only for him to catch your hands mid-air. His grip tightened, strong enough to make your breath catch, before he shoved them above your head and pinned them to the mattress.

“Shut up,” he growled, the sudden grit in his voice pulling your eyes wide. “It’s my turn to teach you. Now lay back… and take what I fucking give you.” A sharp, molten pulse of heat spread through you at the words. Nervous, hesitant Sunghoon had always been delicious, but this Sunghoon, raw and commanding, was devastating. 

His hands left your wrists, but you didn’t move them. Instead, you stayed still, arms stretched above you, watching him as he cupped your breasts through your bra, squeezing firmly, exploring. Without pause, he shoved the cups down until your nipples were bared to his hungry eyes. His mouth descended without hesitation, lips closing around one hardened peak as he sucked and nipped with a greedy edge. “Mr. Park… fuck,” you gasped, lifting your hips off the bed, silently begging for more.

“Please touch me,” you whispered, but he only chuckled, a deep, dark sound that rumbled through him and into you.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice curling low and taunting. “Begging like a whore.” One of his hands slid up your neck until his fingers wrapped around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your breath catch. 

You gasped—half from the restraint, half from the heat pooling at your core—and he grinned faintly before dragging his other hand down your body. He cupped you through your panties, his palm hot against your slick heat.

“I’m going to make you cum on my fingers,” he said, each word low and deliberate, “and then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t speak. Understand?”

“Yes,” you panted.

“Yes, what?” His tone sharpened again.

“Yes, Mr.Park,” you breathed.

“Good girl.” His thumb found your clit, circling lazily at first, applying just enough pressure to tease without giving you the satisfaction you craved. You whimpered, hips twitching under his touch. Then his fingers slipped past the slit in your panties, pressing inside, one at first, curling upward, then two, stretching you open, and finally a third, filling you completely.

“Holy shit,” you sobbed, your body arching involuntarily as he scissored his fingers in rapid, relentless strokes.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, his whiny tone flashing through for just a second before his focus returned. “Take it, baby.” Your orgasm was building too fast, the coil tightening deep inside you, your hands clutching the sheets above your head. Your legs trembled violently, the room spinning as wave after wave crashed over you. Sunghoon didn’t stop, not when you gasped, not when you whimpered, not even when you twisted beneath him. He kept going until you were thrashing, crying out, reduced to a helpless, dripping mess beneath him. 

He pulls his fingers out fast, like a punch to the gut. He doesn’t give you much warning, just a low, ragged groan as his fingers dig into your hips,Looming over you with that intoxicating mix of hunger and hesitation still warring in his expression. His glasses have slipped slightly down his nose, the thin frames catching the warm lamplight as he peers at you from beneath dark lashes. You can hear his breathing, sharp and uneven, almost as loud as the faint pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears. Before you can ask what he’s doing, his hands are on you again, sliding down your sides in one smooth, determined motion. He grips your thighs, and with surprising strength, he flips you over, guiding you forward so your hands brace against the headboard. The air is warm and heavy between you, carrying the scent of him, clean soap, faint cologne, and something muskier, darker, uniquely his. The sudden shift in position leaves you momentarily breathless, your bare skin prickling under the heat of his stare.

“Stay just like that,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice low and edged with command, but there’s a tremor there, a shred of disbelief at what he’s doing. You feel the rough drag of his palms over your ass, kneading the flesh almost reverently before one hand trails down the curve of your hip. The other comes up to the small of your back, gently pressing you forward until you arch, your spine bending into a perfect line for him. The bed creaks faintly under your shifting weight. His breath fans over your skin as he leans in, and then his mouth is there, hot, wet, and unrelenting, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the backs of your thighs, up to where your body aches for him most. You swear you can feel the ghost of his glasses brushing your skin, but he doesn’t seem to care. He pulls back just long enough to look at you, to drink in the sight of you spread and waiting for him, before he growls under his breath and pushes forward again.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, his hands sliding upward until his thumbs press into the dimples at the base of your spine, holding you exactly where he wants you. “No idea how long I’ve thought about this…” His words curl into your ear like smoke, hot and lingering, making it impossible to keep still. His thumbs spread you open just enough to make you feel completely exposed, the air cool against heated skin. Then his mouth is on you, hot, wet, and devastating, his tongue dragging over you in slow, deliberate strokes that make your knees threaten to give out. The first touch is exploratory, almost careful, as though he’s savoring the taste of you, learning what makes you twitch and gasp. But the second pass is bolder, firmer, the pressure deeper, his tongue flicking against that sensitive spot until your fingers curl hard around the headboard. 

You hear the low, guttural noise he makes, half groan, half sigh, like he’s the one losing himself. His glasses slide even further down his nose, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t care if they fall entirely. One of his hands leaves your hip to slip between your thighs, his fingers spreading you wider as his mouth works you over, sucking softly, then harder, building an unbearable rhythm. Every few seconds, he pulls back just enough to breathe, to drag his lower lip against you before sealing his mouth over you again. “Fuck…” he breathes, his voice rasping against you, and you realize he’s savoring the sound of your whimpers, memorizing every shudder that runs through you.

Your knees wobble faintly as your body starts to rock back toward him, chasing the friction. His free hand presses harder into the small of your back, holding you steady as his tongue circles, teases, and finally plunges in deep. The slick, obscene sound of him eating you out fills the space, each movement of his mouth sending sparks up your spine. Your thighs tense, trembling as he works you closer and closer, until your breath is coming in uneven gasps, your eyes squeezing shut against the sheer intensity of it. He pulls back for the briefest moment, his lips wet and glistening, his breathing heavy. “You taste…” he starts, but his voice breaks into a low groan, and instead of finishing, he dives back in, hungrier this time, his tongue and lips moving with unrestrained need. The drag of his tongue, the hot pressure, the pace, everything conspires to pull you under until you can barely think, only feel. “This is the best pussy I'll ever have.” 

Sunghoon groans low against you, the sound vibrating through your core, his grip tightening around your hips to hold you exactly where he wants you. The mattress dips with the weight of his body as he shifts closer, his tongue sliding down to taste you deeper, then back up in a lazy, torturous path that makes heat coil tighter and tighter in your belly. “Sunghoon—” his name catches in your throat, breaking on a moan when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. It’s sharp, almost overwhelming, and he doesn’t let up, his rhythm steady and precise like he’s memorized every twitch of your body. His hands are firm but not rough, guiding you back into his mouth each time you try to lift your hips away from the intensity. 

He hums against you, a sound of approval or maybe need, and the vibration sends your whole body shivering. One hand leaves your hip to slide between your thighs, two fingers sinking into you with an easy, practiced motion. They curl just right, brushing against that spot inside you that makes your breath stutter and your toes curl hard into the sheets. The combination is too much, his mouth working your clit in that perfect, merciless rhythm, his fingers stroking you deep and slow until you can feel the orgasm building so hot and fast it makes your spine arch. Your hands claw helplessly at the bedding, your cheek pressing into the pillow as a desperate sound escapes you. “That’s it,” he murmurs against you, the words low and wrecked. “Let go for me.”

The coil inside you snaps. It rips through you in waves, your thighs trembling, your body clenching around his fingers as he keeps moving through it, drawing every last pulse out of you. Your moans dissolve into ragged breaths, your body going limp against the mattress while he licks you through the aftershocks, slower now, softer, as if easing you down from the high. When he finally pulls back, his lips are slick, his breathing uneven. He presses a lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, his hands smoothing over you in slow, grounding strokes.

The bed dips under his weight as he shifts higher behind you, the warmth of his body closing in like a storm you can’t outrun. You’re still reeling, every muscle loose and heavy from the way he just pulled you apart, but Sunghoon isn’t giving you time to recover. His hands smooth up your spine slowly, fingers splaying as if he’s mapping every curve, every arch of your body. When he reaches the base of your neck, he wraps one large palm around it, not squeezing, just holding, reminding you he’s there, in control, guiding the tempo of what’s coming next. “F-fuck..” You whine. 

“You’re still shaking,” he says, and there’s a trace of a smirk in his tone, like he already knows exactly why. He leans forward until his chest is pressed to your back, his breath brushing hot against the shell of your ear. “Good… means you’re ready for more.” His other hand drags back down the slope of your spine in a lazy stroke, fingers catching in the waistband of nothing, your body bare and exposed to him, before sliding lower to cup you from behind. His thumb grazes over you with maddening slowness, just enough pressure to make your knees threaten to buckle again. 

You gasp “Sunghoon! Oh my god.” as you try to push back into him, but his grip on your neck tightens just enough to keep you still. “Patience,” he murmurs, the word a dark, velvety warning. He shifts his hips forward, letting you feel the hard, undeniable press of him against you, just the weight, no movement, until you’re aching and clenching around nothing. He keeps you there, poised on the edge, his lips brushing your jawline, then the sensitive spot just below your ear, kissing you with an infuriating gentleness that’s in sharp contrast to the tension he’s building. He’s acting like a pro and the shock of his dominance still wrings true through your entire body. 

He pulls back just far enough that his mouth can trail down your back in slow, deliberate kisses, following the curve of your spine. He doesn’t rush, pausing to nip lightly at your skin, to let his teeth scrape just enough to make you gasp. His hands are restless, one sliding around to palm your breast and roll your nipple between his fingers, the other stroking along the inside of your thigh before retreating, always retreating, like he’s testing how far you’ll chase the contact. When he finally positions himself behind you again, the tip of him brushes along your entrance, slick from his mouth and your release. He doesn’t push in, just slides against you, the head catching on your clit before dragging lower again. He repeats the motion, slow and deliberate, letting the friction make your hips twitch and your breath hitch. “Feel that?” he asks, voice low and rough, his hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave the promise of bruises. “You’re so wet for me, I could take you in one thrust.” 

But he doesn’t. He lingers, torturing you with shallow pushes that never quite go deep enough, pulling out before you can sink back into him. His other hand comes down to your thigh, urging it out wider, opening you up for him completely. The bed creaks with the shift, the scent of sex thick in the air, and still he teases, circling your clit with the head of his cock, letting you feel the heat, the weight, without the satisfaction of fullness. When you let out a frustrated sound, half a whine, half a plea, his low chuckle rumbles against your back. “I’ll give it to you,” he says, leaning forward so his lips graze your ear again. “But you’re going to take all of it. Every. Inch.” And before you can breathe, before you can beg again, he pushes forward, slow, relentless, stretching you until your palms press hard into the sheets and your mouth falls open in a breathless moan. 

He doesn’t move at first, just stays buried inside you, deep enough that you can feel every subtle throb, every twitch of him pulsing against your walls. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you still, letting your body adjust while your mind struggles to catch up to the raw fullness of him. Then he leans forward again, his chest pressing flush against your back, his lips finding the sensitive spot beneath your ear. 

“You feel that?” he murmurs, his voice low and deliciously rough. “That’s all mine.” He punctuates it with the slowest roll of his hips, dragging himself nearly all the way out before pushing back in with deliberate, maddening precision. The bed groans beneath you, each deep thrust forcing you forward into the mattress only for him to pull you back onto him again. He finds a rhythm that’s almost cruel, slow enough to keep you aching, deep enough to make every nerve spark. His fingers slide down your front, seeking out your clit, circling it lazily while he continues to move inside you. The combination is overwhelming, his cock filling you from behind, his touch sharp and relentless at your most sensitive point. You can’t stop the moan that slips out, but he’s quick to hush you with a sharp squeeze to your hip. “Not yet,” he growls, dragging his thumb over you in smaller, tighter circles. “You don’t get to finish until I say.” 

He pulls almost entirely out before slamming back in, the force making you gasp and clutch at the sheets. Then he settles into a harsher pace, his thrusts angled to hit that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and your breathing uneven. His grip on your hips is firm, fingers digging in like he’s anchoring himself to you, and every time he bottoms out you swear you can feel him in your stomach. “Holy..fuck..sunghoon.” You sob. 

“God, you’re gripping me so tight,” he groans, his voice almost breaking with the strain of holding back. “Like you were made to take me like this.” He leans back slightly, giving himself the space to watch where your bodies meet, his pace quickening just enough to make the wet sound of it fill the room. Then his hand is on your lower back, pushing you deeper into the mattress while his other hand keeps working your clit, faster now, more insistent. You feel the heat coil low in your belly, the pressure building until it’s almost unbearable. He knows, he can feel the way you start to tremble beneath him, the way your walls clench tighter with every stroke, and instead of giving you the release you’re chasing, he slows again, hips rolling in deep, grinding circles that keep you on that perfect, torturous edge.

“Beg for it,” he says, his breath hot on your skin, the command making your pulse spike. “Let me hear you say it.” His pace is slow but devastating, every thrust a deliberate push into your core, every touch at your clit measured to keep you gasping, wanting, desperate. 

“Please—” The word rips from you before you can stop it, raw and breathless. Your voice catches, breaking as your cheek presses into the mattress. “I can’t—”

“You can.” His tone is low and commanding, threaded with a dark satisfaction. “You’ll take it until I say you can let go.” His thrusts deepen, slow and punishing, dragging along every tender inch of you until you feel like you might shatter from the inside out.

You try again, the plea turning into something close to a sob. “Please, I need it—”

He chuckles against your ear, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Need what, sweetheart? My cock? My fingers? You’re gonna have to be specific if you want me to give you anything.”

Your body arches against him, desperation making you shameless. “I need to come. Please—fuck—please, I’ll do anything.” You feel him twitch inside you at the words, and his thumb presses harder, the circles faster, crueler.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice almost tender despite the ruthless pace of his hand. “Beg for me. Let me hear how much you want it.”

You don’t even hesitate now, the need overwhelming every trace of pride. “You’re so fucking good at this,” you gasp, your voice shaking. “No one—no one’s ever made me feel like this. You’re perfect—please, please, please—” The words tumble out in a rush, your breathing ragged, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes from the sheer force of your need.

“Perfect, huh?” His thrusts quicken, finally giving you the rhythm you’ve been aching for, each one hitting that spot inside you with precision. “Say it again.”

“You’re perfect,” you sob, your nails digging into the sheets. “You’re so fucking good—please don’t stop—” And the sound he makes in response, half-growl, half-groan sends heat surging through you like wildfire. You feel him everywhere, in the press of his chest against your back, in the bruising grip on your hips, in the relentless rhythm that’s tearing you apart in the best possible way. Your vision blurs, the edge so close now you can almost taste it, but he still holds you there, hovering in that place between bliss and agony. “You can come,” he finally says, his voice thick and commanding. “Come for me, gorgeous. Let me feel you.” 

It crashes over you so suddenly it feels like you’ve been set alight from the inside. Your whole body seizes, back arching hard as a ragged cry rips from your throat, raw and desperate. The pleasure is blinding, white-hot and all-consuming, shattering through you in waves so fierce you can’t tell where one ends and the next begins. He doesn’t stop. If anything, he works you harder, his hips still driving into you in a relentless, unbroken rhythm while his thumb circles your clit with sinful precision. It’s too much, too good you’re already trembling violently, gasping for air, but he pins you in place with a firm hand on your hip, keeping you spread open for him, making you take every last second of it. 

“That’s it,” he growls against your ear, his voice rough with something primal. “That’s my girl. Look at you, so fucking beautiful when you come.” His words sink straight into you, molten and dizzying, the praise making your muscles tighten around him again. Your hands fist the sheets so hard your knuckles ache. Your legs are shaking uncontrollably, thighs clenching around nothing, but he’s still there, deep inside you, thumb still working, mouth at your shoulder murmuring things you can barely comprehend through the haze. Every nerve feels hypersensitive, electric, your skin prickling with heat and pleasure until you’re sobbing from it, unable to stop the choked moans spilling from your lips. 

“You can take it,” he urges, his voice low and coaxing now, almost gentle even as his pace stays unyielding. “Give me another one. I know you’ve got more for me.” 

You shake your head weakly, though the truth is your body is already betraying you, winding tight again under his touch. “I can’t—” you whimper, voice breaking.

“Yes, you can.” His teeth scrape lightly along your jaw before he presses a slow, possessive kiss there. “I’ve got you. Just let go for me.” And somehow, impossibly, you do. The second release rips through you even harder than the first, making your vision go spotty, your cry breaking into helpless, breathless sounds as every muscle spasms. He groans low in his chest, hips grinding deep, riding you through it until you collapse forward, limp and trembling, every inch of you wrung out and aching in the sweetest way. 

He stills inside you, his hips slowing to nothing, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven bursts. For a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your mingled breathing, yours ragged and shallow, his deep and shaky as though he’s just run a marathon. His forehead rests against your shoulder, the heat of him seeping into your skin, and you feel the faint tremor in his arms as he props himself over you. Then, like a tide pulling back from shore, that raw, commanding energy he’d been wielding so easily ebbs away, and what’s left is… him. The real him. The one with the endearingly awkward smile, the one who shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose when he’s thinking, the one who stumbles over his words when you catch him staring too long. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, still breathing hard, his cheeks flushed pink from more than just exertion. “Was… was that okay?” he asks, voice pitched lower than usual, almost hesitant. There’s a faint crease between his brows, like he’s genuinely worried you might say no. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in your throat, not mocking, but soft and warm, laced with disbelief that he could even think such a thing. Your lips curve into a slow, dazed smile, the kind that feels too big for your face, because you’re still trying to catch your breath, still trying to gather all the scattered fragments of your mind after what he just did to you. “Okay?” you echo, shaking your head slightly. “It was… amazing. You were amazing.”

His shoulders sag a little in relief, and you watch the corners of his mouth twitch upward. There’s a flicker of something boyish in his eyes, uncertain, shy, but before you can say anything else, you add, “And… I want to go again”  He laughs so genuine and unguarded it makes your chest ache a little. It’s not the low, teasing chuckle from earlier; it’s bright, almost startled, like he can’t believe his luck. “You do?” he says, grinning in a way that makes him look more like the bashful, slightly nerdy guy you know than the man who just made you fall apart minutes ago.

You nod, still smiling, still breathless. His grin widens, his voice dropping into something warmer, teasing now, though there’s a hint of awe in it too. “Then I guess… we can.” 

carefully, almost reverently, he shifts his weight and brushes his hands down your sides, guiding you to roll over onto your back. The sheets bunch beneath you as you settle, your chest rising and falling, cheeks still flushed, hair splayed around your face like a halo. His nervousness hasn’t entirely left, but there’s a softness now, a gentle reverence in the way he looks at you. This time, he doesn’t rush. His hands slide over your sides, gripping lightly at your hips as he aligns himself with you, slow and deliberate. Every move is filled with care, slow, deep thrusts that make your chest press against his, your bodies moving together in a rhythm that’s intimate and unhurried, the kind that makes every nerve ending in your body hum. You let your hands drift over his shoulders, tracing the curve of his neck, feeling the strength in him tempered by this newfound gentleness.

His lips press against your neck and collarbone, kissing and nipping softly, murmuring your name with a husky reverence. “God, you feel so good,” he breathes, voice trembling slightly with awe, not just from desire but from the simple, breathtaking reality of you beneath him. The combination of his reverence and intensity sends shivers straight to your core. Each thrust, each brush of his lips, is laced with both need and a careful tenderness. He whispers praise and small encouragements against your skin, your name, how beautiful you are, how perfect it feels to be inside you, each word a heady mix of admiration and raw desire. You forgot entirely that the camera was still rolling, that this was all to benefit each other and nothing else. 

His pace stays deliberate, each thrust slow and full, letting you feel every inch of him inside you, a delicious weight that presses you down into the mattress. But it’s not just about the physicality this time, every movement carries intention, intimacy, a sense that he’s memorizing you, learning exactly how your body responds. His hands never leave your hips, holding you gently yet firmly, anchoring himself as he lets his chest press into yours. You can feel the warmth of him, the subtle shifts of his body, the careful way he leans in close so that every brush of lips or breath against your skin sends shivers down your spine.

“God, you’re… so perfect,” he murmurs against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The words are husky, broken, filled with awe, as though he can barely believe he’s here, inside you, touching you this intimately. Your chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, nails digging lightly into his skin as every stroke of him sends ripples of heat through you. He leans forward, lips brushing over the hollow of your collarbone, kissing and sucking in slow, deliberate motions. “You feel so amazing,” he whispers, voice trembling slightly with both need and nervous excitement. “I… I can’t get enough of you.” His hands slide over your sides, cupping your breasts with tender firmness before letting them fall to rest on your ribs, fingers brushing the sensitive skin there, teasing you with every touch.

You moan softly, hips lifting instinctively, chasing the subtle friction he provides. “Sunghoon… oh god… yes,” you breathe, breathless, heart pounding in your chest as the combination of his words and his steady, intimate rhythm has you teetering on the edge. “You… you’re so good… I… I didn’t expect—”

“Shh,” he murmurs against your skin, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your neck. “Don’t think. Just feel. Just take it.” His voice is low, tender, and commanding all at once. He slips one hand lower, brushing your clit lightly, teasing in tandem with the deep, patient thrusts that keep you wound tight and trembling. Every movement of his fingers and hips is calculated to pull you higher, to bring you to the edge without letting you fall prematurely.

The first little tremors of release curl through you, your body trembling beneath him, legs shaking as he murmurs your name again and again like a prayer. “So beautiful… look at you… taking me so well,” he coos, voice thick and breathy, and the praise, combined with the intense, tender stimulation, sends you careening toward the brink.

You find yourself sobbing, moans spilling out uncontrollably as he keeps you on the edge, relentless yet gentle, letting you ride the slow burn until you can’t hold back another second. “I… I’m—” you cry, breath hitching, “I’m gonna—oh fuck, Sunghoon!” He holds you through it, keeping your hips pressed against his, his fingers circling and teasing until your orgasm washes over you in long, trembling waves. The sound of your own pleasure fills the room, punctuated by his low groans and murmured words of admiration, grounding you even as your body shakes.

When the waves finally subside, he leans over, lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss, arms wrapping around you to hold you close. “You’re… incredible,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours, his breathing finally slowing. 

Your own chest rises and falls rapidly, a weak, blissful laugh escaping you. “You… you’re amazing too,” you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair, tracing the warmth of his back.  And that night after Sunghoon left, you uploaded the video and watched as the comments and tips poured through. Sending Sunghoon a picture with heart emojis next to it, as you fell asleep with a smile on your face and only Sunghoon on your mind. 

The next week passed in a blur of laughter, stolen touches, and the quiet click of your camera coming to life again and again. You and Sunghoon filmed almost every day, each session an unspoken challenge to outdo the last. New angles, new positions, new little experiments, things you’d only half-imagined before became living, breathing moments between you. And your subscribers noticed. Every time a new video went up, your phone would ping with comments and tips. You’d screenshot the funniest or sweetest ones and send them to him, complete with your teasing little captions: “Look, they’re obsessed with you.” He’d reply with the kind of flustered emojis you could practically hear in his voice. It was late one night when the quiet of your dorm room was broken by the buzz of your phone. Sunghoon’s name lit up your screen. You were already smiling by the time you answered. 

“Hey,” you said softly, curling into your blanket.

“Hey,” he replied, and you could tell immediately something was different in his tone — hesitant, almost shy, like he was standing on the edge of a confession.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Your heart skipped, though you tried to keep your voice calm. “Okay… ask away.”

There was a pause. You could almost hear him pacing, chewing on the inside of his cheek the way he did when he was nervous. “Would it… would it be okay if I asked you out? On a date, I mean.”

Your giddiness was instant, bubbling up like champagne, but you fought to keep your tone teasing, casual. “Oh? You’re asking me out now?”

“I mean, if that’s okay—”

“Sunghoon,” you interrupted, a grin tugging at your lips. “I’d love to go on a date with you.” The relief in his laugh made your chest ache in the best way. “Great. I was thinking… something simple. Movie night at my place.”

You hesitated, a thought crossing your mind. “What about Heeseung?”

“He’ll be gone this weekend,” Sunghoon explained quickly. “Out with Jay and Jake. He won’t be back until Monday night.”

You bit back another smile. “Then I guess it’s a date.” You stayed on the line, talking about everything and nothing, favorite movies, the dumbest videos you’d seen that week, how he somehow managed to burn toast earlier that morning, until the rhythm of his voice became almost hypnotic. Eventually, without meaning to, you drifted off.

When you woke the next morning, your phone was still warm in your hand. The call was still connected. You could hear the faint, steady sound of his breathing on the other end. You didn’t hang up right away. Instead, you let the silence wash over you, smiling into your pillow. Something in your chest felt unfamiliar,  heavier, but not in a way that hurt. It was… warm. Secure. You’d never felt like this with anyone before. And in that sleepy, unguarded moment, you realized maybe what you felt for Sunghoon had already grown far deeper than just the spark of attraction or the thrill of the camera. So you decided. Tonight, during your movie night, you’d tell him.

You stood outside Sunghoon’s door with your heart pounding so hard you swore it might echo in the hallway. Your palms were damp despite the cool air conditioning drifting lazily through the dorm corridor, and your breath came in soft, uneven waves. This was it, the night you’d decided to tell him. No matter what happened, whether he smiled and pulled you into his arms, or whether things shattered into awkward silence, there would be no going back after this. You smoothed your hands over your outfit, more out of habit than necessity, then raised your knuckles and knocked. A moment passed, and then the door swung open to reveal him. Sunghoon stood there with that familiar shy-angled smile, his dark hair slightly messy like he’d been fussing with it before you arrived. His eyes flickered over you quickly, almost bashfully, before he stepped aside. “Hey… come in,” he said, voice softer than usual, almost cautious, as if he was worried you might not like what was waiting on the other side of the doorway. 

You stepped inside, ready to be greeted by the usual layout of his living room, but instead your breath caught. Candles, dozens of them, lined the coffee table and windowsill, their flickering glow painting the room in shades of gold and amber. The scent of roses drifted through the air, rich and sweet, not overpowering but undeniably romantic. Your gaze swept over the little touches, a folded blanket on the couch, two wine glasses waiting on coasters. It was beautiful. You had been in this living room what feels like a million times and had never seen it so serene. 

Your chest tightened. No one had ever done something like this for you. When you turned back to him, you found Sunghoon hovering just inside the doorway, rubbing at the back of his neck like he didn’t quite know where to put his hands. “I, uh… wasn’t sure if it was too much,” he admitted, glancing at the candles before meeting your eyes again. “I just… wanted it to feel like a real date.” 

You didn’t even let him finish overthinking it, you closed the space between you, hooked your fingers around the back of his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss. It was sudden enough to make him still for a half-second, but then he melted into it, lips pressing back against yours in warm, careful rhythm, like he was savoring the moment rather than rushing it. When you pulled back, breath catching slightly, you let your forehead rest against his. “It’s beautiful, Sunghoon,” you whispered, smiling so wide it almost hurt. “Really… you have no idea.”

He exhaled slowly, that shy smile pulling at the corners of his lips again. “I’m glad you like it,” he murmured, almost in relief. “I, uh… ordered food too. It should be here any minute.” 

You nodded, still a little dazed, before he gestured toward the couch. “Sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

You did, sinking into the plush cushions, your eyes still scanning the candlelight like you were trying to memorize the feeling of this moment. Sunghoon settled down next to you, and without hesitation you curled into his side, feeling the warmth of him seep into your skin. His arm came around your shoulders in a natural, protective way, and your body instinctively relaxed against him. He reached for the remote and flicked the TV on, and you were halfway expecting some dramatic action movie or maybe one of those tense thrillers he liked, but instead, the screen lit up with the opening scene of Twilight: Eclipse. You turned to him slowly, eyebrows lifting.

“Really?” you said, unable to hide the little laugh bubbling up in your throat.

He smirked faintly but kept his eyes on the screen. “What? We needed to finish the saga. Don’t tell me you don’t like it.” 

“I love it,” you admitted, shaking your head at him. You let yourself sink a little deeper into him, the candlelight painting shadows across his jawline, and thought about how badly you wanted to tell him everything, how this wasn’t just casual for you anymore, how somewhere between the teasing and the filming and the late-night phone calls, you’d started to fall.

And as the movie began to play, you could already feel the words waiting for the right moment to spill.

After a while the movie had all but faded into the background, the flickering light of the screen casting moving shadows across the room, forgotten in the wake of the way Sunghoon’s lips moved against yours. The remnants of your dinner, greasy pizza boxes, crumpled napkins, the faint tang of tomato and basil, were strewn across the floor, but neither of you cared. Your world had narrowed to the warm press of his body against yours, the way his hands roamed with an unhurried but desperate confidence, fingers dragging over your sides like he was mapping out the shape of you from memory. A low sound slipped from your throat as his mouth moved from yours to the curve of your jaw, trailing slow, deliberate kisses that made your pulse stutter. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer until there wasn’t a breath of space between you.

“You’re… really into Twilight, huh?” you murmured against his hair, trying for playful but your voice was already shaky, laced with heat.

He let out a breath of a laugh, the sound muffled against your skin. “I’m more into you right now.”

Your stomach flipped, and you almost hated how much that one sentence affected you. Almost. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, palm warm against your bare skin. It was unhurried but charged, every small movement deliberate, like he was testing how far you’d let him go before you broke. You shifted, swinging a leg over his lap without thinking, straddling him as the kiss deepened again, this time messier, hungrier. Your lipstick smeared between you, the taste of pizza and something sweeter mixing in the back of your throat. 

“I really want you.” Your voice was a low, husky purr against his mouth, lips brushing his in the barest ghost of a kiss as your hips rolled lazily over him. The movement was teasing but heavy enough that he felt the heat of you even through the thin layers of fabric. His hands shot to your hips like they were drawn there, fingers digging into the softness with enough force to make your breath hitch. He gripped you so tightly that the whites of his knuckles stood out, and a strangled groan tumbled from his lips, raw, unfiltered, needy, as your slow grind pressed you perfectly over the shape of his growing erection. 

“Fuck.”  The word slipped out of him like a prayer, like something sacred and involuntary. He lifted his hips sharply to meet yours, rutting up with an unrestrained hunger that made your stomach twist in delicious knots. His movements were clumsy in their desperation, the kind that spoke of someone barely holding themselves together.

“Can I fuck you?” you whimpered, breath coming in soft, broken fragments as your grinding picked up speed. Your voice cracked on the word please, and the plea was genuine, uttered more from aching need than any real question. Sunghoon’s answer was instant. His nod was almost frantic, messy strands of hair falling into his eyes as though the mere thought of delay was unbearable. “You don’t have to beg, baby,” he cooed, voice low and almost tender in its reassurance, even as it carried that sharp edge of lust. “Use my cock to make yourself cum.”

You huffed a laugh, half breathless, brushing your mouth over his ear. “You’ve got quite the dirty mouth now, Sunghoon,” you murmured, heat curling through your words. “I wonder who taught you that.”

Color bloomed across his cheeks, but he didn’t look away. “I had the best teacher.” Your smirk deepened as you slid off his lap just long enough to strip yourself bare, the motions quick and impatient, your shorts and panties kicked to the side in a messy heap. He moved with equal urgency, yanking his pants down his thighs in rough, hurried tugs, as if the very air between you was too thick to breathe until nothing stood in the way. There was no pretense tonight, no slow lead-up, no elaborate game, just the pure, aching urgency of two people who needed each other like oxygen.

You climbed back onto him, bracing your palms against his shoulders. The heat of his skin burned through the thin fabric of his shirt, and you felt him twitch beneath you when you guided the head of his cock along your slick folds, letting it tap, slow and deliberate, against your clit. His breath caught, sharp, audible, and his voice broke when he spoke. “Oh, fuck, baby… put it in.”

You gave a slow, indulgent sigh, pretending patience you didn’t have. “Patience…” you teased, stroking him once, twice, feeling the way his thighs tensed beneath you. And then, in one decisive, fluid motion, you sank down until he was seated fully inside you. The stretch was overwhelming, a delicious ache that knocked the air from your lungs. “Holy—” You didn’t finish, couldn’t, because the tip of his cock kissed that deep, sensitive spot inside you and your body trembled around him.

Planting your feet against the cushions for leverage, you began to move, fast, relentless, a brutal pace that had your hips smacking down against his in sharp, rhythmic slaps. Sunghoon’s eyes went wide behind his glasses, his gaze locked shamelessly on the place where your bodies joined. “You’re so fucking wet,” he hissed, almost in disbelief, his hands gripping and kneading your ass like he could mold you closer, pull you tighter. “So—fuck—so tight, and oh—” His voice broke on the last word as you dropped harder, faster, driving him deeper with every bounce.

“You like it?” you asked, running your hand over his chest, dragging your nails lightly across the muscle hidden under his shirt. “You like when I ride you, baby?”

“Oh, fuck—yes.” His composure was unraveling, every ounce of control slipping with each movement. His palm came down in a sharp smack to your ass, the sound mixing with your moans, spurring you on. Your thighs burned, trembling, but you didn’t slow, didn’t want to. You were too close, too wound up, your moans spilling out louder and louder until they were obscene, shameless, almost deafening in the small room.

Neither of you heard the jingle of keys at the front door. Neither of you registered the creak of it swinging open, the shuffle of footsteps across the entryway. It wasn’t until a sharp, stunned voice cut through the haze—  “What the fuck?” —did the world outside of the two of you slam back into focus.

You froze mid-motion, body locked for a split second in something that wasn’t quite fear but wasn’t entirely shock either, more like your brain had short-circuited. Then, in a clumsy tangle of limbs, you stumbled off Sunghoon’s lap, half-falling sideways into the couch cushion beside him, heart racing in your throat. You yanked the blanket up over both of you like it was a shield that could undo what Heeseung had just walked in on. He was standing there in the doorway, red-faced, chest rising and falling like he’d just run up a flight of stairs, though you knew it wasn’t from exertion. His eyes darted over you and Sunghoon, sharp and accusing, lingering far too long on the obvious disarray of your clothes and flushed cheeks. You could practically hear the seconds ticking between you before he spat out his words, voice jagged and venom-soaked. 

“What the fuck?” His tone was low, but there was no mistaking the outrage threaded through it. His gaze flicked to Sunghoon like the sight of him made something inside him rot.“So this is the guy you’re fucking now? My fucking loser roommate?” Your brows furrow instantly, heat crawling up your neck, not with embarrassment, but with fury. You wanted to scoff at the insult, to throw it right back at him, but your mouth was still stuck between shock and rage. He kept going, each word twisting the knife deeper. “Didn’t want to be with one housemate so you had to jump to the next? Tell me, why are you whoring—” 

“Don’t.” The single word cracked through the air like a whip. Sunghoon’s voice, steady, lethal, and more forceful than you had ever heard it, cut him off clean. His posture was tight, shoulders squared, jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscles twitch. Even sitting beside him, you could feel the tremor of restrained anger radiating from him. “Don’t fucking talk about her like that.” There was nothing uncertain about the way he said it. No hesitation. No hint of the shy, soft-spoken Sunghoon you’d first met.

Heeseung’s lips curled into something ugly, then he laughed. A deep, humorless, gut-wrenching laugh that echoed in the room like it belonged in a fight, not between people who once shared a bed. It made your stomach churn. You could feel the rage simmering in you, boiling over at the sound. How dare he? How dare he walk in, insult Sunghoon to his face, and then throw a word like whore at you like it was a weapon he had the right to use. “What are you, her boyfriend now?” Heeseung’s eyes were cold, unblinking. “She’s probably using you for your dick like she used mine—”

You shot upright before he could finish, the blanket falling from your shoulders. Your hand darted to the floor, grabbing your discarded shorts and pulling them on with clumsy, angry hands. “Fuck you, Heeseung.” Your voice was sharp, but your chest ached as you said it. “We had an agreement when we were sleeping together. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t have feelings for you. But that doesn’t give you the right to—”

“Doesn’t give me the right?” His voice cracked, loud and raw. “I told you I fucking loved you. And you go and fuck my fucking roommate—” You froze, the words digging deep, cutting past your anger. The weight of what he just said sat heavy in the air between you, but you forced yourself to look away, to stare down at your feet instead of the hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Heeseung,” you said softly, the words trembling. “But I love him.” It felt like your heart had leapt out of your chest and landed on the coffee table between you all. There it was, out in the open. Something you hadn’t dared to say until now, something you hadn’t even been sure of until it was already too late to take it back. The silence that followed was suffocating. Not even the ticking of the clock or the hum of the fridge seemed to fill it. You could hear the shallow hitch of Sunghoon’s breath beside you. Heeseung just stared at you for a long, still moment, his expression shifting from shock to something uglier, something like disgust.

His eyes flicked to Sunghoon, hard and accusing, before he spoke again. “I’ll have my shit out by the end of the day tomorrow,” he said flatly, like each word was being ripped from him. “You two deserve each other.” Then he was gone. The slam of the door rattled the frame, and the room fell into a silence that felt heavier than anything you’d ever felt before. You sat there, staring at the closed door, your pulse hammering in your ears, your confession still ringing in the air like an unanswered question. You could feel Sunghoon’s presence beside you, warm, steady, but you didn’t dare look at him yet. You were too afraid to see what was written on his face. Afraid that maybe you’d said it too soon. Afraid that maybe he didn’t feel the same. But you also knew one thing: it was too late to take it back now. 

You sit in silence for a few more seconds, the quiet swallowing the living room whole. It’s not the soft, comfortable kind of silence you sometimes shared with Sunghoon, this one was heavy, thick with the echo of Heeseung’s voice and the sound of the door slamming shut. The air felt colder without his presence, but not in a way you wanted. The space he left behind was filled with something else, something raw and trembling between you and Sunghoon. “You love me?” His voice cuts through it all. It’s not accusing, not even disbelieving, more like he’s trying the words on for size, rolling them around in his head to see if they fit.

It hurts a little, the way the question is asked. Not because he doesn’t deserve to know, but because the moment is still bruised with Heeseung’s wrath, his disgust. Somewhere in your chest, guilt twists, because you know Heeseung will probably never forgive either of you. But the truth is the truth, and it sits in your throat like something too big to swallow. “Yes.” The word leaves you simply, barely more than a breath. There’s nothing else you could possibly say. You did love him, you had fallen before you even realized it was happening, before you could catch yourself, before you could put a name to it. 

“I love you,” you say again, firmer this time, as if repetition will make the feeling more real to him. Your lips twitch with a faint, nervous smile before you add, “And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I understand this arrangement was just to teach you to be more comfortable—” You don’t get to finish. He cuts you off with the sudden, firm tug of his hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him so quickly your breath catches. His mouth is on yours before you can even think, and the kiss is deep, overwhelming in its intensity. His hands thread into your hair, holding you there like letting go would be impossible. It’s desperate in the way it claims you, in the way he tilts his head just to angle himself closer, deeper. You feel him in your lungs, in your pulse, like there’s not enough oxygen between you to share. Your fingers bunch into his shirt, trying to keep yourself grounded even as the rest of you spins.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, lips tingling, heart racing like you’ve just run headfirst into something you’ve wanted forever. And he’s smiling, soft, sure, and entirely unshaken by what just happened. “Don’t worry about Heeseung, okay? He’ll get over it.” You nod, still dazed, still trying to catch your breath. The weight of your confession still lingers in the air, but it’s not suffocating anymore, it feels lighter now, like maybe it wasn’t a mistake to say it out loud. His thumb brushes over your cheek, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. “Only worry about how the guy you love loves you back,” he murmurs, voice warm and low, like it’s just for you. 

Your chest swells, something bright and unstoppable curling through you. “Really?” It comes out half laugh, half disbelief, because part of you still can’t believe this is happening, that Sunghoon, quiet and awkward and perfect in ways you never expected, could feel the same way. He answers without words, pressing his lips to yours again. This kiss is slower, steadier, as if sealing something between you that doesn’t need to be rushed. When you pull apart, your smile mirrors his, both of you caught in that giddy, weightless place where nothing else matters, not the mess on the floor, not the storm Heeseung left behind. Just the two of you. And the quiet certainty that the story, somehow, was only just beginning.

you stood by the sidelines of the outdoor basketball court, your heels making soft clicking noises everytime you bounced against the asphalt. a bright smile on your lips as you watched him like he was the one who sculpted the clouds in the sky. your boyfriend. 

lee heeseung. 

dating since your freshman and his sophomore year of highschool, and now the basketball captain of your university, the infamous music technology major with a killer smile, the campus heartthrob who had chose you. you knew his reputation, of course you did. before you dated him, everyone warned you on how fast he moved on quickly, how he never did repeats or could settle in. 

yet, with you… it was different, it’s been 5 years. you’re now in your first year of university and he was on his second. you were the exception. everyone thought you’d marry each other by the 6th year.

he was practically her dream boy, she’d like to say atleast. 

her train of thought was broken by the sound of the final buzzer of the air horn. heeseung sank an effortless three-pointer as it sounded, and the small crowd of practice spectators erupted in cheers. 

he grinned, that panther-like smile that made hearts flutter, as he accepted the backslaps from his teammates and winked at the girls in the crowd, your heart fluttered thinking those winks were for you.

his eyes scanned the sidelines and landed on you.

instead of heading to the locker room, he grabbed his towel and started walking toward you with a shit-eating grin, acting like everything was normal and well put. your smile widend at the sight of your boyfriend approaching you, instantly fixing that short denim skirt you wore and brushing your fingers through your hair.

this was your guys’ thing. everyone knew that, you were his and he was yours. the typical popular girl and basketball captain, dating.

he came to a stop in front of you, the scent of his sweat and fresh cologne hitting your nose first, making you weak in your knees. he was glowing, still buzzing from the game, his damp jersey clinging to his torso.

god he was so hot. 

he ran the towel over his face, but when he lowered it, his expression wasn't the warm, private one you expected. it was the same charming, slightly arrogant mask he wore for the public. 

the one he'd never used on you.

“heeseung! babe, you did so well!” she said, jumping up and down; she was practically more excited than him. 

“i know, baby.” he hummed, eyes looking you up and down as he swipes his lip with his tongue. his voice casual, he wasnt even out of breath despite how sweaty he looked. “got some news, princess.”

her heart stopped for a split second, was he going to propose? you’ve been dating for 5 years, it was bound to happen at some point.

“really? i hope its good news.” you laughed nervously, your cheeks slowly flushing as your heart beating out of your mouth. your hand going to playfully tap his bicep, yet he shifted. your hand falling right past him and falls back to your own side. 

“oh, its the best, baby,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. it was fake, almost like the smile he had when he flirted with people during his early sophomore year of high school. "the scout from SNU. y’know, the one I've been talking to for months? he made it official. full-ride scholarship. i'm transferring for the spring semester.”

the world didn't slow down, just like you expected; it just tilted. 

transferring?

he'd never mentioned transferring. talking to scouts for months? he'd told you he was focused on their university team. 

"heeseung... that's... that's incredible," you stammered, your mind reeling, trying to catch up. "but, what does this mean?” you laughed nervously, taking a step closer to him, as he took a step backwards. “for us? we can–"

"that's the thing," he cut you off, his voice smooth as if he was rehearsing this for days (he hasnt). it was this calm, a clean precision that made it so brutal. 

he wasn't angry or upset. he was just... informing you. "this is a clean break. a new start. i'm not doing long-distance. It's messy, and it holds people back."

basically, ‘im sick of you, you’re boring, we’ve never tried something new, you were only good pussy. i was cheating on you’

he said it so plainly, as if he were explaining a simple play on the court. you was the messy thing that would hold him back.

"so– what are you saying?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the thumping of your own heart. 

he had the decency to look at her directly and fucking laughed like it was a joke. he almost laughed till he cried, wiping his eye with his index finger before taking deep breaths.  "oh god, you’re funny, princess,” he said through breaths, “what i’m saying is, we had good fun, but i’m breaking up with you. its over.”

the words landed not like a blow, but like a shot to your head. this wasn't a heated argument; it was an execution. 

he hadn't just broken up with you. he had demoted you from "the exception" back to a statistic. you were just some other girl he'd dated and left, your 5 year of devotion neatly folded into his history as a university heartbreaker.

he gave you a small, almost pitying smile. "take care of yourself, okay?"

and then he turned. he walked back towards his teammates, who were laughing and gathering their gear, completely unaware that he had just shattered a world. he didn't look back. he was already moving on to his next play, his next victory, his next life. 

some girl approached him with a bottle of water and a wink, watching heeseung wrap his arm around the girl and kiss her cheek softly like he hadnt just broke up with the girl he supposedly was dating for the past 5 years.

and you was left standing there, alone in the cold air, the smile you first appeared with now replaced with an ugly frown. boys never change.

the world started to come back into focus with a sharp pain. the rough asphalt beneath your heels. the chill of the evening air bites through your thin top. the distant, mocking sound of heeseung's laughter. hot tears pricked at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. 

not here. not in front of them.

you turned on your heel, needing to escape, to find a dark, quiet corner to shatter in private. but in your haste, you didn't see the figure leaning against the fence of the basketball court, half-shrouded in shadow.

you collided with a solid chest. a quiet, steadying hand shot out to grip your elbow before you could stumble. 

"whoa. easy."

the voice was low, calm. deeper than you expected. you looked up, ready to mutter an apology to another one of heeseung's jock friends, but the words died in your throat. 

nishimura riki. the quiet japanese exchange student who was always in the dance studio, the one who moved through the university halls like a ghost. 

you'd seen him in the library sometimes, his headphones on, his gaze intense and focused on a sketchbook, never on the social dramas of people like you and heeseung.

his eyes werent on your face, no, they were looking past you. towards the entrance of the locker rooms, where heeseung was not flirting with the girl who gave him water. 

riki’s gaze slowly drifted back to you, and he saw everything. the cheery smile you’d walked in with, the entire brutal breakup, the way you were now trembling on the edge of completely breaking down.

you expected to see pity in his eyes.

or worse, amusement.

however, you didnt see either of them.

instead, you saw a quiet, unnerving understanding. a flicker of something that looked like anger on your behalf. His grip on your elbow was firm, not intrusive, but grounding. 

"you’re shaking," he stated, his voice barely a murmur. it was an observation.

you couldn't form words. you just stared at him, your vision blurring.

he didn't ask if you were all right. he didn't offer fake sympathy. he simply reached into the pocket of his chrome hearts hoodie (which was probably more than your tuition) and pulled out a clean, folded handkerchief. an old-fashioned, thoughtful gesture that felt alien in your world.

he held it out to you. "it’s cold," he said, as if giving you a reason for your tears that had nothing to do with the boy who had just destroyed you.

in that moment, your perfect, popular world crumbled into dust. the only other person who offered you any sort of stability was the ‘emo’ boy, the one who always hid himself in the library, doodling, or in the dance studio of your university, coming up with choreography to whatever song he was feeling that day. 

he was the one who saw the crack in your perfect life, and he didn't look away. he just stood there, watching you, waiting for you. 

—

you slipped into the library seat, just across riki. it wasnt normal, no, but it felt right.

after he practically saw you break down, you found an unspoken comfortable feeling every time you were around him. you tried your best not to scroll through heeseung’s instagram, but you did.

there it was again. a new picture. His arm, which used to drape so familiarly over your shoulders, was now wrapped around her. your favourite café, the bench in the park you claimed as your own, all of it was being repainted with her smile. 

witnessing all the photos of you and him getting replaced with the new girl he was with in an instant, making your eyes well up.

riki sighs to himself as he saw you. he couldnt see your screen, but he knew what you were doing. he doesn't say anything at first. 

yet, he quietly slides a single earbud across the table. "listen, this song wont be any of that heartbroken sappy shit," he says simply. 

as you suspiciously take the earbud and place it in your ears, your eyes light up. he was right, it wasnt any sappy heartbroken song like ‘apocolypse’ by cigarettes after sex, no, it was a kaytranada song, one of your favourite artists, but you didnt question it.

it was something that took your mind off your heartbreak and made you smile for once. and the way your lips lifted up made riki’s own heart flutter ever so slightly. only to let him smile back at you, a rare sight.

it wasn't a smile of pity. he didn't need to say, "i told you so," or "feel better." the music was saying it for him.

the quiet space between you, built by the simple bluetooth earbuds disappeared. for the next three minutes and forty-two seconds, the world wasn't about your shitty ex, or the girl who replaced you. 

it was just about the two of you.

as you both sat for another hour, in musical silence, riki notices you shivering ever so slightly. “you’re cold.” he stated bluntly as he unzips the grey bastard hoodie he wears a lot, he wouldnt even let his own mother wash it when he was younger.

he leaned over the table to wrap the jacket around your shoulders, making sure to keep the curls of you hair intact. “lets go, yeah?” he asked, voice deep yet velvety.

“yeah…” you muttered out with tinted pink cheeks.  fuck.

on the way back to the dorms in a found comfortable silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the city and the crunch of your footsteps on the pavement. you tugged his oversized jacket closer and tighter around your frame, the clean scent of his laundry detergent and the musky cologne making you relax.

with a slight courage, you looked at him with doe eyes, the ones you used to look at heeseung with, taking in his sharp profile, which were outlined by the streetlights.  he was looking straight ahead, but his hands were stuffed into his pocket and his posture relaxed.

“thanks, riki…” you mutter softly, your gaze dropping back down to the pavement floor, watching the grey skirt you wore rise and fall as you pass every step with your uggs. 

he didn't respond immediately, letting the silence sit for a few more seconds. when he finally spoke, his voice was low and even, blending with the night air. 

“don't mention it," he said, his eyes still fixed ahead. then, a slight, almost imperceptible shrug. he glanced at you then, a quick, sideways look that saw right through you. "and... it's better than watching you torture yourself with that feed."

there was no judgment in his tone, just a simple, stark statement of fact. It was the kind of blunt honesty you never knew you needed.

he nudged your shoulder gently with his own, a small, grounding touch. "his loss is my gain, i guess. now i have a pretty girl who’s walking with me back to the dorms."

he didnt know what spurted out of his mouth. it just… slipped. the truth just rolled out…

“i–” he gasped. flustered, his nonchalant image now gone.

she laughed softly, thanking him. "i just... i don't want to think. i just want to feel something else." you admitted softly, taking a shaky exhale and revealing a soft white smoke cloud from your lips.

riki’s head spins. 

he looks at you, his gaze flustered gaze now both serious and hidden with desire. "i understand that." he pauses, choosing his words with care. 

“we could... not think together. no strings. no promises. just a distraction for both of us." the offer isn't sleazy; it's a pact. “something to forget.”

he's offering an escape from the very public world you just lost, into his private, quiet one. 

and with his preposition, you blushed. you considered it, and your mind raced. your mind wandered to when you had sex with heeseung, how he only chased his own orgasm and let you fend for yourself.

without a second, you nod. “deal.”

the word hung in the cold air between you, a fragile, and vulnerable moment, making you shirnk. it was an answer to his proposition, and the moment you gave it, something shifted. 

the comfortable silence from before became heavier, filled with more tension than before.

riki didn’t smile this time. his flustered expression had been replaced by something far more intense, a quiet focus that made your heart hammer against your ribs. he simply gave a slow, single nod, his eyes never leaving yours.

"okay," he said, his voice a low rasp. "follow me."

he didn't take your hand, but he shortened his stride, ensuring you were always just a step behind him as he changed course. 

he wasn't leading you toward the dorms anymore. instead, he lead you toward a quieter, more residential street, where the trees were thicker and the streetlights cast long shadows.

your mind was still a frantic race of thoughts, but they were no longer about heeseung. they were now about the sharp line of riki's jaw in the dim light, the confident set of his shoulders, and the dangerous, offer he had just made. 

this wasn't about love. this was about forgetting, and riki seemed like someone who paid attention.

he stopped in front of a modest apartment building, fumbling for his keys with a slight, uncharacteristic clumsiness that betrayed his own calm facade. 

the lobby was quiet, and the elevator ride to the fifth floor was silent, the only sound the soft hum of machinery and the frantic pulse you were sure he could hear.

the door clicked shut, and the outside world was now long forgotten.

he turned to face you, leaning back against the door as if to block any retreat, or perhaps to steady himself. his gaze was still serious, still hidden with that hidden desire.

“if we want to do this, we need to have rules.” he said, his voice quiet but firm in the stillness of his room. “first, it’s a secret. second, we don't need grand gestures, it's just a fuck, got it?” 

you nod softly at his words, nervous as you held the grey jacket closer to you. “got it…”

“third, we tell each other if we ever catch feelings for the other.” he said as he pushed himself off the door, approaching you slowly. the silence hanging in the air for a good few seconds. “last, if you want to stop, you say 'stop'. that's the only rule that matters."

you just nodded, your throat too dry to form words.

as he stood in front of you, his hands caged you around the kitchen island, he didn't kiss you immediately. instead, his one of his hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs gently stroking the lingering dampness from your cheeks that you hadn't even realised was still there. the gesture was so unexpectedly tender that it made your breath catch.

"okay, princess?" he whispered, a final check-in, his lips inches from yours.

in answer, you rose onto your toes and closed the gap yourself.

the kiss wasnt gentle by all means, it was hungry. a release of all the pent-up hurt and confusion you had been carrying by yourself. the memories of heeseung dissolved as soon as you pressed your lips against riki. 

he matched your intensity, his hands gripping your waist as he pushed you further into the kitchen island. the marble counter digging into your lower spine as he pushes himself flush against you body, as if he could absorb all the pain and replace it with pleasure.

his hands roam around your body like there was no tomorrow, tangled in your hair, sliding down your spine, gripping your waist with urgency. each touch his own deliberate and pent up feelings.

it was already different. with heeseung, it was all about his satisfaction, no foreplay. yet, with riki, it felt like it was all about you. he almost worshipped you, with every shift of his body, every gasp that escaped your lips.

he was careful, considering, and he hasnt even fully touched you yet. all this feeling, just from a simple mere kiss.

he broke the kiss, his breath ragged and leaving you wanting more. your foreheads against each other and eyes filled with want, adoration and desire.

“see, something to forget, right?” you breathed out, voice rough with a want that reflected your own. 

you nodded as he led you towards his bedroom, realising he was right. the ghost of heeseung was gone, replaced with the current situation infront of him. riki, the boy who was there when he saw the break up go down, the one who offered support when you needed it. 

the quiet emo people made fun of him behind his back, now here infront of you as he pushed you to sit ontop of the bed. the surprisingly soft comforter under you making you feel things you never knew you could.

“please…” you muttered softly, unknown what you were even begging for. your legs just spreading, like a signal to riki to continue. 

and with a smirk, he fell to his knees, the carpet rough under his jeans, but this is where he wanted to be. 

“so needy, arent you…” he mumbled softly, his lips travelling up your thighs. each kiss so tender, yet leaving you to want more. 

you didnt have to wait for long, riki’s head instantly disappeared under that short skirt you wore, his lips kissing the wet heat of your clothed cunt, making you shiver. thighs instantly closing shut, trapping him into the deep smell of you.

he let out a low laugh as he felt you close up against him, one of his hands going to caress your ankle as the other pries your thigh apart for him. “god, you smell so good..” he muttered, inhaling you scent and kissing your clit through your panties.

his tongue began slow, licking a long stripe right through the damp fabric of your panties, and a shakey moan was ripped from your throat. the sound making him let out another chuckle, a soft vibration hitting your pussy as his nose bumped your clit.

“oh baby,” he murmured, voice thick with heat. “don’t hide from me.” he coo’d, teeth tugging at the waistband of your panties, the ones that are now drenched, and pulled them down just to your knees. the glisten of your pussy clear as day to him.

“oh you’re so wet.” he hummed, landing a kiss just above your clit, making you whine. the ghost of his breath over your soaked folds, making you clutch the sheets under you. 

“riki, please.” you begged, only to let a sigh of relief escape your lips as soon as his mouth came in contact with your glistening pussy. 

it was slow at first, the licks against your clit almost boring. reminding you of heeseung. you almost yawned at it. and riki could tell, the way your thighs loosened in boredom, the way he pushed your skirt away from his eyes, only to peer up at your face filled of nothingness. 

and all he did was smirk. in an instant, his tongue plunged into your hole, deep. the feeling making you jump and moan in an instant with wide eyes. “f–fuck, riki–” you gasped as the wet muscle moved rapidly. 

the sound of wet sucking and your moans filled his room, and neither of you could care less about anyone who lived nearby. his fingers rubbed small circles against your ankle as he devoured you as if you were his last meal. 

“shit, you taste so good.” he whined into your pussy. his eyes shut tight as he enveloped all of your slick onto his tongue. and frankly enough, you were close. your hole pulsating against his tongue, clenching, releasing, clenching tighter.

and riki could tell, letting out a low chuckle as he pulled away to look at you with his chin covered in your slick and his own drool. 

and god, he almost came on the spot at the sight of you. the hoodie he gave you earlier, still intact against your body, the skirt bunched around your hips, and god. your cheeks a flushed pink as your chest heaved up and down. 

you whined at the loss of your orgasm, eyes half lidded as you watched him stand up between your legs. 

“you ready, princess?” he hummed, leaning in as his breath fanned over your face. and as eager and horny you were, you nodded in an instant.

“good girl.”  he murmured, leaning to bite your earlobe gently. as he leans down, trapping you onto his bed as his clothed cock rutted up against your pretty pussy. the sensation was almost phenomenal; the roughness of the denim against your raw clit practically made you cry out.

“riki– i need to...” you moaned, as he sped up. his hips were moving like there was no tomorrow; it was a sign to let go of everything. and, you did. your back arching as you came from the grinding, wetting his jeans all over. 

he never stopped, he kept rutting against you as you rode your high. until your gummy clit was rough and hard. until tears fell down your cheeks, did he stop. “was that good, baby?” he said with a smirk, leaning down to kiss your tears away.

“ngh…” was all you could respond with, before you heard a sharp zip echo through the room. the mushroomy tip of his cock, now prodding your clit lightly.

“baby, you have to relax.” he grunted softly as he collected all the slick escaping from your cunt onto the tip of his cock. slowly but shortly pushing into you.

a sting rippled through you as you felt the stretch of his head in your pussy. and my god, you never noticed this, but he was big. way bigger than heeseung ever was. and despite his size, he was caring. checking in on you every time an inch of him entered you, until he fully bottomed out, your base touching his own.

without a word, he pulled out, just to where his head started, and thrusted back in almost punishingly. with each slow thrust you cried and moaned, you felt everything. your hands going from the sheets, to his shoulders, to hugging him close and flushed against you. your pretty nails digging into his back, definitely leaving marks for the next day. 

he tried to hold back, he really did. but, he couldnt, with all the angelic noises that escaped you lips, he sped up faster and faster. “fuck, you sound so pretty.” he groaned, enjoying the pain of your nails against his back and every clench around his cock.

he swore he almost came on the spot as he saw the tears in your eyes and the saliva dripping down your oh so pretty face. the same blurred tears he saw as heeseung broke up with you. 

“do i fuck you better than him, princess?” the nickname sounding like venom on his tongue, his fingers gripping your waist harder to leave marks. and all you could reply with was gurgles of your saliva.

he tutted at the lack of your response, a hand slowly travelling to your neck to wrap around it. clearly displeased, he applied a bit of pressure, only enough so you started to gasp occasionally. “doesnt answer the question, doll.”

his thrusts were brutal; you felt your stomach coil in at the orgasm building up.

“do. i. fuck. better. than. your. filthy. ex.” he stated, eyes darkening as he saw drool escape down your plump lips. fingers applying more pressure until you nod vicariously. choked moans escaping your lips as you arch your back, not even warning him of your orgasm. 

your walls clench around his cock harshly, making him groan himself, his orgasm building up by an instant. “oh shit, doll. that’s so hot…” he groaned out, thrusting in and out until his tip kissed your cervix. 

his eyes traveled from your wrecked state, his jacket still on, to your stomach, where it showed a tiny bulge, one of which was his cock rocking back and forth. “god, you’re so small, i can see my cock.” 

without a warning, his hand released your neck and travelled down to the sensitive nub of yours, rapidly rubbing it, “cum with me, yeah? you can do this for me, cant you, doll?” he whispered into your ear with brutal thrusts.

all you could do was shiver, arch and reply with a moan, making him laugh as his thumb rolled ‘8’s onto your clit. “atta girl, m gonna cum soon.” he grunted, thrusts slowly turning sloppy and harsher. 

until he buried himself into you, shooting his cum deep inside of you, you could feel it enter you slowly, making yourself cum for the 3rd time, clenching around him harshly, evoking a cry from the two of you.

you blinked, once, twice, until your mind went blank and everything disappeared, blacking out while he was still in you. 

—

you woke up in an unfamiliar room, body aching and head hurting. your eyes were adjusting to the light as you looked around, noticing your clothes that were once on your body, now in the laundry basket, along with someone else's, a thin, large, black shirt covering your body. 

the room was covered with band posters and chromehearts. as you shuffled, you felt a large pair of hands around your waist, looking down to see a blonde-haired man. 

everything rushed back to you. how you were hungover heeseung, how you walked home with riki, how you fucked him. the sound of shuffling pulled you out of your thoughts with a soft morning groan.

“mornin’ doll…” he mumbled into your side, his voice an octave deeper than yesterday, god he was so hot. 

you felt a sharp thrust in your body, letting out a loud moan, realising he was still inside of you. “what, cat got your tongue, baby?” he let out a deep chuckle, and you swore you could cum on the spot if he told you too.

“i told you, forget everything, yeah?” he muttered, landing purple bites against the nook of your neck. “i was only getting started, doll, y’know that?”

you let out a soft moan at his words, clenching lightly, only for him to pull out. “i’ve got a lecture, darling. text ya later, yeah?” he hummed with a smile, his blonde hair wild as ever but the dark circles under his eyes making your cheeks flush.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ❤︎ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @firstclassjaylee @kristynaaah @17ericas @heeseung64 @leipforggy @s1rawb3rry @ddeonuswife @orxngebloods @xylatox @saccharinezennie @yooonjnng @lookingforsnacks @smollbean42905 @intromortal @taesnumber1 @noirxraa @ikeu05 @delma-x

You stepped from the elevator onto the thirty-ninth floor, stilettos clicking over marble, so glossy it caught the overhead lights and flung them back in shards of silver. 

The corridor outside Sunghoon’s penthouse still smelled faintly of the cedar-and-bergamot diffuser he favored, familiar, irritating and annoyingly comforting. 

Your blouse was perfectly ironed, hair swept into a high ponytail, makeup soft but immaculate. 

Beneath the collar your scarf hid the blooming marks Jihoon’s mouth had painted along your throat last nighjt, the silk wrapped delicately each time you swallowed, a secret reminder of how fast you’d already moved on.

You rang the bell. The custom steel door whispered open, and there he was: Park Sunghoon, ex-husband, ex-golden boy, barefoot in a charcoal cashmere sweater and sweatpants that draped too casually on a body still honed like a fencer’s blade. 

which was unfair, since you had to hit the gym so much to get your body back after pregnancy.

A crooked half-smile lifted one corner of his lips, the exact smile that used to undo you, and still threatened to annoy you into irrationality.

“Two minutes late,” he said, leaning a shoulder to the jamb. “Color me shocked, you’re slipping.”

“Traffic was charitable,” you answered, gliding past him. “Or perhaps the universe felt sorry for me, knowing I’d be dealing with you.”

He gave a low, appreciative hum while closing the door. “Biting already. I Haven’t even offered you coffee yet.”

“God forbid,” you muttered. “Caffeine brewed by your hands might revert me to our marriage counseling days, and we both know how that ended.”

“Explosively.” His eyes flicked to the silk tucked at your neck, lingered just a second too long. The bastard had always been sharp. “New accessory? Striking choice for July.”

You lifted your chin. “Fashion, Sunghoon. Look it up sometime instead of living in sweatpants.”

He laughed under his breath and motioned toward the sun-drenched living room where floor-to-ceiling windows gave Seoul’s skyline center stage. 

Lego castles sprawled across the rug, watercolor palettes lay open on the coffee table, brushes soaking in mismatched mugs. 

Voices floated from the hallway: one soft and uncertain, the other bright and commanding.

“Haneul, put that down, you’ll spill!” Yohan fretted.

“It’s fine, dummy,” Haneul declared. “I’m strong.”

You couldn’t help smiling. They were your perfect halves, as contrasting and complementary as moonlight and flame. 

The moment they spotted you, four small feet thundered over the hardwood.

“Mommy!” Haneul launched herself first, fierce as always, burrowing under your blouse in search of a hug. 

She smelled like finger paint and the strawberry shampoo you’d chosen for her at six months old. Yohan arrived a breath later, slower, shy, but his arms slipped around your waist with a familiar sigh of relief.

“Hey, my loves,” you murmured, kissing each silky head. “Did you behave for Daddy?”

“They over-behaved,” Sunghoon said, folding arms across his chest. “I’m thinking of renting them out as examples to other children.”

Haneul stuck out her tongue at him. “We’re only good because we’re awesome,” she announced.

Yohan tightened his grip on your wrist, “We made you pictures,” he said, voice so small you bent to hear it. “I painted a galaxy.”

“And I drew a tiger eating a monster truck,” Haneul added proudly.

“My little artists,” you praised, gathering both creations. Yohan’s painting was good, while you werent really sure which one was the car and which one was the tigér in Haneul’s “These are masterpieces. They’re going on the fridge.”

Sunghoon’s gaze moved from the paintings to your face. “The kids have packed, everything’s by the door. I labeled the medicine for Yohan’s cough.” 

A pause, then with exaggerated politeness he said “Should I also forward their pediatrician records to your… new friend? You know, in case of emergencies between making hickey art?”

Heat pricked your ears, but you smirked “Jihoon’s a doctor, actually, I think we’ll manage.”

“A doctor,” Sunghoon repeated, tilting his head “Good choice, someone has to keep you in one piece after you trip over your own pride.”

You arched a brow “Funny, that’s exactly what he said about you, except with more medical terminology.”

Haneul, oblivious, tugged your wrist “Mommy, can we bake cookies tonight? The really gooey ones?”

“Absolutely. Yohan, you’ll help too, right?”

He nodded shyly. “If I can stir.”

“Stirring is essential,” you assured him.

Sunghoon cleared his throat “Hang on,” he said, and vanished down the hallway. The twins scampered into the foyer to collect tiny backpacks, one blue and one purple. 

You waited, fingers tracing the ridges of your wedding band’s phantom imprint— gone nearly a year now, yet some days it felt freshly removed.

He returned with two plushies, Yohan’s weathered penguin, Haneul’s stuffed phoenix, plus a zipped folder “Their latest school forms,” he said, pressing the folder into your free hand. “And Yohan’s reading log. He’s ahead of level again.”

You met his eyes, a reluctant swell of pride shared between adversaries “Thank you.”

An awkward beat. 

The kind that used to end with a kiss back when the pauses held gravity, not distance. 

He broke it first, voice low “They’re good kids because of you.”

“And you,” you granted softly. It was a truth neither of you enjoyed admitting.

Across the room the twins argued about who would press the elevator button. 

Their little voices echoed like bells, filling corners once haunted by adult shouting. Your throat tightened, but hadn’t walked into this ivory tower to cry, so you blinked the tears back.

“You okay?” Sunghoon asked, more gently than expected.

You blinked “Peachy.”

He studied you, the way he once did across candlelit tables, conviction that he could read every flicker of thought. 

His gaze drifted again to the scarf, and his lips curved, bittersweet “I don’t regret us,” he murmured. “Even if we’re better like this.”

“Better is relative,” you said, checking the time. “And you still owe me half the orthodontist fund.”

“Invoice me, I’ll pay promptly, unlike your boyfriend.” The playful barb slipped out before he could help it. You rolled your eyes.

Haneul appeared between you with the decisive stomp of a warrior princess. “Daddy, hug.”

He knelt, catching her in strong arms. 

Yohan edged closer, and Sunghoon embraced him too, kisses pressed to raven hair. “Be good for Mom,” he said, and they nodded. Then his gaze lifted to you. “Text when you get home?”

“I will,” you answered. 

This new civility was fragile; you weren’t about to break it.

At the door you paused, adjusting scarf and handbags while the elevator dinged. Sunghoon hovered in the threshold like a man thinking of unsaying things already said.

“Take care of yourself,” he said quietly.

“You too.” You hesitated, then added, “Try sleeping before three a.m. for once.”

“Doctor’s orders, I suppose.” He flashed that maddening crooked smile.

The elevator doors slid open, you shepherded the twins inside. 

As the doors closed, Sunghoon raised two fingers in a casual salute. You answered with a small, wry wave.

The elevator began its silent descent. Haneul bounced on her heels “Mommy, can we call Uncle Jihoon on the way?”

“Maybe after dinner,” you said, smoothing her hair.

Yohan tugged your coat, whispering, “Will Daddy be lonely?”

Your chest tightened again, but you kept your voice steady Daddy has lots of things that keep him occupied, he’ll be fine.”

The numbers ticked downward. 

You inhaled, catching faint traces of cedar that clung even here, and let them pass.

☆.

Jihoon’s mouth had trailed from the hollow behind your ear to the curve of your collarbone, each slow kiss coaxing a sigh you scarcely recognized as your own. 

The loft’s floor-to-ceiling windows framed the late-afternoon light, dusty and gold, and the silk shirt you had worn for brunch lay discarded over the arm of the couch. 

Jihoon’s hands explored beneath the lace edge of your bra, thumbs stroking the faint bruises his lips had left the night before. 

When he murmured your name you arched into him, fingers threading through his soft brown hair.

“You taste like espresso.” he teased, breath warm against your shoulder.

“You made it too strong.” you whispered, nipping his lower lip.

His chuckle vibrated through both of you. “I make everything strong.”

The slow, building pressure of his body against yours blurred whatever fragile sense of time you’d carried in. 

He nudged your knees apart, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your sternum, and you tugged at his belt with impatient fingers. He braced an arm beside your head, gaze glossy with heat. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need—” The sentence dissolved when his hips rolled, and you gasped, half laugh, half moan. “Jihoon, don’t—”

A faint buzz rattled somewhere to the left. 

Phone? Table? Call? You ignored it, lifting to meet his mouth again. The buzz returned, more insistent, followed by a muffled ping. 

Then another.

Jihoon pulled back just enough to look at you, hair falling into his eyes. “Want me to toss it onto the obalcony?”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Might be the hospital.”

“Fine.” He leaned, snagged his phone, squinted. “It’s yours.” he said when he found no missed call on his.

You frowned. 

Your own phone lay face-down on the coffee table, screen pulsing with notification after notification. 

When you flipped it, the lock screen lit with Sunghoon’s name… eight missed calls, two voicemails, half a dozen texts.

The last message read at 3:47 PM

Sunghoon: WHERE ARE YOU?

Blood drained from your face. 

Pickup was three-thirty. 

A twenty-minute cross-city drive in Friday traffic stood between you and the twins.

“Oh God,” you breathed. “I’m late. Jihoon, I’m late.”

He sat back instantly. “What— how late?”

“Half an hour, maybe more if we hit jams.” You shoved into your blouse, fumbling buttons wrong, then right, hand shaking. 

The twins had never waited alone— Sunghoon’s anger was one thing, but Yohan’s shy heart twisted at schedule changes, and Haneul’s fierce bravado evaporated when she sensed tension.

Jihoon steadied your wrists. “I’ll drive,

give me the keys.”

“You have a shift—”

“Not till seven, come on.”

You stuffed rumpled hair into a claw clip, found your heels, and snatched your back before quickly bolting out of the house.

While Jihoon locked up, you hit call back. Sunghoon answered on the first ring; the controlled ice in his voice froze your spine.

“It’s four o’clock,” he said, no greeting. “You were due at three-thirty.”

“I know. Traffic—”

“Don’t you dare lie.” A hard exhale. “The twins have been sitting in the lobby with the doorman for twenty minutes because I have a meeting I can’t move.”

Guilt slammed like a wave. “I’m on my way! twenty-five minutes.”

“You should’ve been on your way an hour ago.” The line clicked deadk 

Your stomach churned. 

In the elevator Jihoon squeezed your hand, lips pressed to your temple. “Focus on breathing. We’ll make every light.”

You half-ran to his car. 

jihoon wove through side streets, one palm steady on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh in silent reassurance.

You replayed the last four years in the windshield: the final shouting match with Sunghoon, ink drying on divorce papers, the fragile truce of shared custody. 

You’d kept promises; pickups, drop-offs, parent-teacher nights— a flawless record until now. Your eyes stung. Jihoon squeezed again. “They’ll be okay, Sunghoon too.”

“Sunghoon doesn’t do ‘okay., he does perfect schedules and synchronized watches.”

“He can survive twenty minutes of imperfection.”

“He’ll make sure I don’t.”

Jihoon hit the horn, merged ruthlessly. “He’ll snarl, you’ll snarl back, then you’ll take the kids home. That’s it.”

The GPS ticked minutes downward while the sun slid west. 

At 4:24PM the logo over Sunghoon’s building loomed like a herald of judgement. You leapt from the car before Jihoon had fully stopped.

Inside, the concierge recognized you and your panic, and gestured toward a leather bench.

Yohan sat small-shouldered, backpack clutched to his chest. Haneul swung her legs defiantly, scowling at every adult in range. The instant they spotted you, mixed relief and hurt flooded their faces.

You knelt. “I’m so sorry, babies.” You wrapped them both close. “Traffic swallowed me whole.”

Sunghoon approached from the elevators, suit jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to elbows, jaw tight. His presence alone thickened the air.

“Thank Mr. Seo for babysitting,” he told the twins, nodding to the concierge. They murmured thanks. 

Then his eyes skewered you. “My office lost a forty-million-won client because I had to sprint downstairs.” His tone remained low, but fury simmered beneath. “You didn’t answer until the tenth call.”

“I was— occupied,” you admitted, heat crawling up your throat.

“With Doctor Perfect.” His gaze flicked to the slight smudge of your lipstick above Jihoon’s collar. “How responsible.”

Jihoon entered then, purposeful but calm. 

He offered a slight bow. “Afternoon, Mr. Park. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, the delay was my fault.”

Sunghoon laughed once, sharp. “Chivalry? Cute. It doesn’t un-delay my schedule.” He turned back to you. “If you can’t honor the pickup window, you need to let me know, they sat with strangers.”

“Mr. Seo isn’t a stranger,” you argued, but your shoulders drooped. “I know it’s my fault.”

“Damn right,” he snapped, then seemed to remember the children’s wide eyes and moderated his voice. “From now on, if you’ll be late, call at least half an our ahead.”

Jihoon stepped forward. “We’ll set extra alarms. She truly—”

Sunghoon’s palm lifted, silencing him. “This is between their mother and me.”

Haneul spoke up, fierce loyalty flashing. “Daddy, Mommy said sorry. Let it go.”

Sunghoon regarded his daughter, pride and frustration warring. 

Yohan’s hand slipped into yours; his small fingers trembled. You tucked him under your arm.

“I’ll make it up,” you promised, meeting Sunghoon’s gaze. “I’ll take them also tomorrow, feed them, homework, baths. Drop them at school in the morning.”

“We already have plans,” he said. “But go now. I have work.” He crouched to the twins’ level, anger vanishing behind tenderness. “Love you both. Be good, buckle up.”

They hugged him tight. When they stepped back he straightened, facing you again, expression calmer but still flinty. “One slip, fine. Don’t let it become a pattern.”

“It won’t,” you said.

Jihoon touched the small of your back— steady warmth. Sunghoon’s eyes tracked the gesture, but he only nodded once, curt, and strode toward the second bank of elevators, phone already to ear.

In the car, silence settled until Haneul blurted, “Mommy, you’re never late.”

You winced. “I messed up. I’m sorry.”

Yohan leaned against you. “We forgave you already.”

Your chest ached. Jihoon glanced in the mirror. “Cookies and extra sprinkles tonight?”

Haneul brightened. “Bear shaped!”

“And maybe a penguin one for Yohan,” you added.

Promise of sugar thawed the tension. 

As Jihoon eased into traffic, his hand sought yours again. You squeezed, grateful. 

You texted Sunghoon

You: Home safe. Thanks for waiting.  

The read receipt appeared instantly, yet no reply came. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t tonight. You would face him again at soccer practice on Sunday, armed with punctuality and contrition.

For now you had twins chattering about cookie shapes and a man beside you who smelled of hand sanitizer and steadfast patience. 

But it didn’t quite soothe you as Sunghoon’s cedar scent did.

☆.

You had tucked Yohan beneath his rocket-printed duvet at nine-thirty sharp, smoothing the fringe from his lashes while he whispered requests for “just one more chapter.” 

Haneul occupied the opposite bunk across the room, arms folded in protest because her brother’s galaxy comforter looked “cooler than boring princess swirls.” 

You compromised: two pages more of Tangled for them both and a promise of pancakes at dawn, then a good-night kiss to each forehead. 

When you eased the door nearly shut, lwaving a narrow sliver left open so hallway light could chase away nightmares, you heard nothing but the hush of their synchronized breathing and, somewhere deeper in the apartment, the distant drip of the kitchen faucet you still forgot to call the landlord about.

In your bedroom you exchanged slacks for an oversized tee, idly scrolling through Sunghoon’s terse email about next week’s parent–teacher conference: concise bullet points, no greeting, no sign-off, just times and an attachment. 

You answered with equal brevity: noted, see you there, and hit send before second-guessing tone. 

Jihoon’s name flashed in a new message immediately after.

Hoon 🩷: Miss you already. ER’s a madhouse tonight. Sleep soon? 

You smiled at the screen, typed back quickly

You: pancake duty at sunrise but I’ll try.

and set the phone facedown. 

The apartment settled into its nocturnal symphony: refrigerator humming, street traffic, a soft river flowing some feet away, and you let eyelids flutter shut unaware of the quiet rebellion brewing down the hall.

Haneul waited until the hallway light dimmed on the smart timer, ten-fifteen, then kicked off her blanket. 

She tiptoed across cool laminate, clutching her phoenix plush like a talisman. 

Yohan was already half-propped on elbows, eyes wide behind the milky glow of the small astronaut night-lamp.

“You‘re awake too?,” he whispered, voice feather-soft so it wouldn’t carry.

“Mission time,” she declared, clambering onto the mattress beside him. 

The springs squeaked; both froze, listening. 

No footsteps. No Mommy. Safe.

Yohan scooted to make room, pulling up his notebook, the one with planetary rings on the cover and TOP SECRET scribbled in bubble letters. 

Inside, colored-pencil schematics sprawled across pages: stick-figure Mommy and Daddy separated by a jagged thunderbolt, arrows leading to a giant red heart.

Haneul grabbed a purple crayon. “Step one, we need a plan that makes them talk without all the blah blah fight stuff.”

Yohan nodded solemnly, pencil poised. “Like a peace treaty.”

“Treaties are boring. We need… a trap.” She drew a square labelled family patch HQ and, under that, two stick grown-ups with startled eyebrows.

He frowned. “Daddy doesn’t like when we surprise him, and mommy gets scared when daddy is mad.”

“Fine,” she allowed, tapping the page. “Then we make them do something happy together. What do they both like?”

Yohan’s brow furrowed, deep in six-year-old contemplation. “Coffee?” he suggested.

“They’ll just drink and talk about bills.” Haneul rolled her eyes. “Think bigger.”

“Skating!” he blurted. “Daddy took us to the frozen fountain last winter. Mommy laughed a lot that day.”

Haneul’s grin flashed feral. “Yes. Ice. But how do we get them there at the same time?”

They fell into hushed deliberation, heads bent, plush phoenix wedged like a conference mascot between them. 

Yohan proposed forged invitations to a “special parents’ night” at the rink. 

Haneul countered with a surprise picnic in the middle of the ice, blankets, cocoa, maybe glitter bombs. Yohan worried about glitter in skates; Haneul insisted glitter fixed everything. 

They compromised: glitter only on the thermos.

Haneul flipped to a fresh page. “Backup plan in case they can’t pic nic: make them watch old wedding videos.”

Yohan’s eyes widened. “Do we have those?”

“Grandma does. We can ask but pretend it’s for school.”

“I don’t like fibbing.”

“It’s not fibbing,” she soothed. “It’s… diplomacy.” She’d heard Sunghoon use the word during a heated phone call and liked how it rolled off the tongue.

They listed supplies: colored paper, cocoa packets, marshmallows shaped like stars (non-negotiable), enough allowance coins to bribe the rink guard, and Sunghoon’s spare keycard if pick-up shuttling required infiltration of his apartment. 

Haneul promised she could swipe it from the crystal bowl by his door. 

Yohan fretted about fingerprints, but she waved him off “Daddy is a CEO, not an FBI agent.”

When strategies tired their brains, Yohan yawned cavernously. 

Haneul fished a flashlight from under the pillow, clicked it on beneath a shared blanket, and they whispered final oaths of secrecy— not a peep to grown-ups, especially not Jihoon, because doctors asked too many questions. 

They spat on palms with theatrical disgust, then sealed the pact with a sticky handshake that made them giggle until Yohan clapped both hands over his mouth.

Haneul switched off the flashlight. She nestled beside her twin brother, fingers intertwined.

“Mommy and Daddy will be happy again,” she murmured into darkness, more a statement than a wish.

Yohan swallowed. “Even if they don’t get married again… maybe they’ll laugh.”

She nudged him with an elbow. “They’ll laugh. And then we won’t have to pack bags every other weekend like ping-pong balls.”

He considered this, then nodded. “Mission: family patch!” he recited, sleep thickening his voice. “Operation commence tomorrow at oh-six-hundred.”

Haneul had no idea what hour that was, but Yohan liked numbers, so she agreed and commanded the phoenix plush to stand lookout. 

By the time its stitched wings drooped against the pillow, both children drifted under, breathing in unison, dreaming of twirling ice and microscopic glitter storms, of coffee steam curling between two grown-ups who once loved each other enough to make a galaxy-painting boy and a tiger-riding girl.

Down the hall, you lay unaware, one arm flung over your eyes, pondering whether to email Sunghoon a proper apology for last week’s tardy scramble. 

You debated phrasing until thoughts blurred, eventually you decided morning clarity would serve better. 

Had you risen to peek in on the twins, like you usually did before sleeping, you might have noticed the double rise and fall beneath Yohan’s quilt or the faint scent of purple crayon still hanging in the air. 

☆.

You spent Saturday morning lost in the weekend routine: laundry tumbling in the washer, a precarious tower of receipts on the dining table begging to be categorized, too distracted to notice the unnatural hush in the twins’ room and ghe sudden disappearance of your phone.

Sunghoon, the next day, somewhere across the river, sat in his high-rise office final-polishing a pitch deck, blissfully ignorant that Yohan and Haneul were toggling between his unlocked laptop.

While you counted vitamins into a plastic day-pill container, they sent your mother a text requiring your wedding videos for a school project. She dropped a USB driver when you were busy hanging out the clothes. 

Then, they plundered the external drive labeled ARCHIVE— DO NOT DELETE on Sunghoon’s computer. 

Up popped camcorder footage: you six months pregnant, satin wedding dress tailored around your belly; Sunghoon in a dove-gray suit, gaze locked on you like earth’s true north. 

The twins giggled at their own embryonic cameos— your wobbling walk down the aisle, Sunghoon’s trembling hands when he kissed your knuckles, your joint vows whispered over the soundtrack of distant seagulls. 

Haneul clipped segments without mercy, Yohan layering transitions that blinked neon pink and comic-sans captions: LOOK HOW MUCH THEY LOVED EACH OTHER! A royalty-free harp arpeggio looped beneath every frame, jerky and too loud.. 

Yohan handled logistics. He typed on Sunghoon’s email: “Client call moved. I’ll be offlain after noon.” 

Haneul commandeered your phone when you left it charging beside the toaster. Her thumbs flew: “Running errands.” even if she didn’t really know what it meant “Taking kids skating at Star Rink tomorrow, can you grab them at four? :) Grab your skates, maybe they wanna stay longer” 

The smiley looked nothing like your usual punctuation and everything like six-year-old exuberance, but they trusted adult obliviousness.

Next they texted you from his own work chat window, Yohan’s idea, so a parallel message pinged onto your lock screen: “I’ll drop twins at rink 3:30. You pick ’em up? Thanks. Bring your skates in case they want to stay longer.”

Then they deleted the threads, archiving proof deep in message trash where no one ever scrolled.

Grandma arrived at noon. 

Your mother thought the surprise visit was your idea; you didn’t know that neither Sunghoon nor you were aware of their secret mission.

By three-thirty you shoved your skates into a canvas tote, wondering why Sunghoon had promised the twins ice on a weekend so crammed. 

Still, a commitment was a commitment, and guilt over last week’s tardy pickup nipped your conscience. 

You arrived to Star Rink’s gleaming atrium just after three-fifty, breath fogging in the artificially cooled air, muttering apologies you’d craft for tiny ears. 

The rink looked unusually empty, just a few teenagers practicing spins, no sign of your children skating with your ex husband.

Then a familiar voice echoed across the polished concrete. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Sunghoon strode from the opposite entrance, coat unfastened, skates slung over one shoulder. 

His surprise mirrored yours so perfectly it might have been choreographed— which, unknown to either of you, it had.

“You said to be here at four,” he accused.

You blinked. “No— you said i’d grab them at four.”

He frowned. “I have the text.” He dug for his phone, scrolling with brows knit. You mirrored him, finding nothing but your past conversations.

“Where are the twins?” you asked, throat tightening.

“Probably hiding behind a pillar laughing at us.” He scanned the rink. “Come on, rascals, out!”

No answer. 

Only the squeak of rental skates and the distant crunch of blades carving ice. 

You and Sunghoon shared a look that bridged the chasm of months— parental telepathy laced with worry.

A rink attendant in a blue windbreaker approached, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Park? Ms. L/N?”

“Yes,” you both answered, then glared at each other for saying it in unison.

The attendant smiled like someone who’d been tipped off. “Your children dropped off a USB this morning. Asked us to play it at four sharp. They said you might… need context.” She gestured toward the suspended Jumbotron above center ice. 

Its four screens currently looped skate sponsors.

You opened your mouth— closed it. Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed. 

“They told us to inform you they are at their Grandma’s, safe and sound.” She made air quotes. 

Haneul’s grin flashed in your memory, wicked and gap-toothed. Yohan’s shy collusion behind it. You dragged a hand over your face. “Demons.”

The attendant glanced at the wall clock. 3:58. “We were also told to insist you both ‘get on the ice first so the magic works.’ Their words.”

Sunghoon pinched the bridge of his nose, then sighed. “Fine. Humor us.”

You laced skates side by side on a bench, trying not to notice how his forearm brushed yours when he tugged his bootstrings, how the slice of his jaw looked less severe up close, how the citrus-cedar cologne you once bought him still anchored memories. 

When you stood, wobbling, he offered a reflexive hand, not the poised businessman, just the competitive skater who’d coached you through a thousand laps in winter courting days. 

Muscle memory overruled pride, you let him steady you onto the ice.

The rink felt cavernous without the twins’ chatter. Fluorescent lights struck the frozen surface in blue shivers. You pushed off cautiously, lungs filling with cold whisper-clean air. 

Sunghoon glided backward, assessing your form. “Knees bent,” he murmured, in instinctive coach mode.

“I remember,” you said, managing a credible curve. Across the ice, teen couples twirled; pop music thumped overhead. That familiarity, him skating circles until your confidence caught, stirred warmth you tried to quell.

At exactly four-o-one the music cut, replaced by a jarring harp trill booming through loudspeakers. 

The Jumbotron flickered snowflakes, then a shaky camcorder frame: you in pearls, belly round under ivory silk, Sunghoon at the altar, eyes glossy.

Your skate edges wobbled. “Oh, my God.”

He looked up, jaw slack. 

The audio crackled— your voice in 720p, laughing, telling the officiant a twins joke mid-vow and everyone roaring. Caption bubbles popped: THEY WERE SO CUTE! :’) Glitter GIFs rained down pixelated gold across the screen. 

The edit jumped, janky cross-fade to the first dance where Sunghoon’s hands rested protectively on your curve. 

A subtitle shouted: LOOK HOW DADDY STARED AT MOMMY!

A collective “awww” rose from rink spectators. Your cheeks burned.

Then the too loud music started, deafening everyone around.

Sunghoon skated closer, voice low. “Where did they even get this?”

“Your archive drive? My mother had a backup too.”

He winced. “I locked that folder.”

“They hacked you.” A short, incredulous laugh escaped. “Our six-year-olds hacked you.”

Onscreen footage shifted to the hospital delivery room, your mother must’ve filmed it, Sunghoon pressing lips to your brow while monitors beeped. 

Then a freeze-frame zoom-in on both newborns, overlay text in rainbow font: MISSION FAMILY PATCH: ACTIVEIGHT.

Mutters of delight filtered from onlookers. 

You swayed slightly, Sunghoon caught your elbow. For a long heartbeat neither of you moved, riveted by the stumble-through montage, first bath, stroller race, your exhausted faces side by side on the couch. 

The amateur edit felt like a love letter scrawled in crayon, messy yet searingly sincere.

When the screen faded to white with a final flourish, PLEASE LOVE AGAIN, silence thawed into soft arena applause. The attendant cut the feed and awkwardly restarted the playlist.

You exhaled, a shudder that misted the chilly air. “They went to Grandma’s so we’d be forced to… reconnect.”

“Tiny criminals,” he murmured, but his voice wasn’t angry. just overwhelmed. And guilty. 

You eased back, studying him. Ice crystals peppered his hair where condensation had settled. 

He looked suddenly tired, the rapid-fire CEO shutters pulled open to something vulnerable.

“They miss the way we used to laugh,” you said, throat tight.

“Do you?” he asked, earnestness slipping out before he could clothe it in sarcasm.

“Yes,” you admitted, quiet, surprising even yourself. “I miss when we were on the same team.”

He nodded, gaze drifting to your scarf, today a soft gray, no hickeys to hide, “We’re still parents. That team never dissolved.”

“You’re right. We just… forgot how to play.”

He released a breathy chuckle. “Leave it to our kids to schedule a remedial practice.”

You managed a tentative smile. The playlist shifted to a mellow jazz instrumental. Without thinking you extended a hand. “One lap? For old times.”

He took it gently, palm warm through your glove. 

Together you pushed off, synchronizing lengths like gear teeth meshing. 

The glide settled into familiar rhythm— your left, his right, bodies leaning, inside edges kissing ice.

He matched speed to yours, never showboating. Halfway around, muscle memory took over and you attempted a cautious crossover. 

He guided your hips with featherlight fingertips, murmuring corrections the way he had when teaching you to skate backwards: “Weight over the heel, trust the blade.”

Trust. 

That had been the fragile axis after divorce, trust in schedules, trust in boundaries, but not in closeness. 

Yet here, under fluorescent hum and cinnamon-cocoa rink air, your body remembered what your mind had shelved, you trusted him to keep you upright on ice. 

He trusted you with the beating hearts of his children.

When you completed the circuit, neither of you let go immediately. 

You drifted near the boards, hearts thudding louder than rental pop. Finally he cleared his throat. “We should call them. Let them know mission accomplished… partially.”

You laughed softly. “They’ll demand proof.”

“Let’s take a picture then, to show them.”

“Alright.” You murmured, taking your phone out of your jeans and handing it to him.

He took it, a shy quirk on an otherwise confident man. “Say cheese.”

His hand rested on the small of your back, so familiar it was almost painful. 

Heat jolted through your body, and he must have felt it too because his own shifted closer.

“Cheese.” You breathed out and he took the selfie before giving you your phone back. 

A comfortable hush settled. 

You studied his profile, the slope of cheekbone, faint crease where laughter used to live. 

Something gentle stirred beneath ribs, not romantic lightning, but a warm tide of possibility.

“If we’re going to be ambushed by our own offspring,” you said, “maybe we should carve out time to talk, really talk, before they escalate.”

“Dinner?” he offered, simple as breathing. “Somewhere public. Neutral ground.”

You lifted a brow. “Supervised by waitstaff instead of kindergarteners.”

“Exactly.” His smile warmed. “Next Thursday? I’ll book at that Italian place you like.”i

“Email me the details.” You squeezed his arm once before stepping back. “And… thanks for catching me earlier.”

“Always.” The word hovered in the cool air, sincere and unvarnished.

You skated toward the exit, heart lighter. 

Behind you, Sunghoon called after with playful edge, “Try not to be late this time.”

You looked over a shoulder, grin spreading. “Set a reminder for me, tech genius.”

He laughed, unrestrained, head tipped, and the sound echoed like silver bells across the rink. 

You carried it with you off the ice, past the attendant who winked knowingly, past teenagers still buzzing about the cutest video ever, all the way to the lobby where your phone buzzed with a photo from your mother: twins on her sofa, popcorn bowl between them, thumbs-up so wide it nearly cracked the frame.

You texted back: Nice try, tiny masterminds. We’ll talk when you’re home. Love you.

You opened Sunghoon's chat:

You: They’re officially grounded from espionage… but I’m glad they tried. See you Thursday.

Three dots pulsed. His reply came shortly after

Sunghoon: I’m glad too. Good night, Y/N

You slipped the phone away, realizing your cheeks still ached from smiling. 

Outside, dusk mellowed the skyline into lavender and rose. 

You inhaled the bite of winter air the rink expelled each time doors opened and thought maybe patchwork didn’t have to recreate an old quilt; it could stitch something new— imperfect seams, frayed threads, surprisingly strong. 

And thanks to two relentless six-year-olds, the first patch  was already in place.

☆.

You sat across from Jihoon in the hospital’s rooftop garden, wind tugging faintly at the corners of the pale-blue picnic blanket he’d spread on a lunch break more rushed than he admitted. 

A single thermos of his too-strong espresso steamed between you, the scent mingling with oregano from planters that volunteers kept for the pediatric wing. 

His eyes, steady, kind and edged with fatigue from a sixteen-hour shift, searched your face while you traced invisible constellations on the blanket’s plaid.

He smiled, soft. “You’re quiet today. That usually means your brain’s ten paragraphs ahead of your mouth.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Guilty.”

“Talk to me.”

The ease in his invitation nearly unstitched your resolve. 

You folded your hands, thumbs fidgeting. “Jihoon… I need to tell you something, and I don’t know how to do it without sounding ungrateful.”

He uncapped the thermos, poured you half. “Just say it.”

You met his gaze, the gentle brown that had steadied you through late-night panics and blues, and felt the first sharp twist of regret. “I care about you so much. You know that, right?”

“I know.” A faint line appeared between his brows. “And?”

“And I’ve loved how safe I feel with you, how easy things are.” You wrapped cold fingers around the paper cup. “But after what the twins pulled at the rink… I realized easy isn’t the same as… a spark.” The last word trembled in the air.

He swallowed, intake of breath small but audible. “You mean Sunghoon.”

“I mean the life I had with him. The mess, the fire.” You exhaled. “I don’t want to hurt you, you’ve been nothing but wonderful.”

Jihoon’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded once, firm and deliberate. “Feelings aren’t crimes, they just… happen.” He scanned the skyline, blinking hard. “We both knew from the start your heart was still boarded up with ‘handle fragile’ stickers.”

“I thought time would change that, and maybe it could have. But when I stood on that ice and saw the way he steadied me—” Your voice cracked. “I felt something snap back into alignment and I can’t pretend I didn’t.”

Jihoon rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are you going back to him?”

“I’m going to ask if we can try, slowly. i don’t even know if he wants that.”

He gave a rueful smile. “He’d be a fool not to.” Then, softer, “Do you love him?”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then whispered, “Yes.”

Silence hung, broken only by the flap of pigeons and distant ambulance sirens. 

Jihoon inhaled and squared his shoulders like a surgeon scrubbing in. “Then you owe it to yourself, and to the twins, to see. And I owe it to myself to not be someone’s gentle detour.”

Tears blurred your vision. “You deserve someone who blazes for you.”

“Yeah,” he said, tone light but eyes wet, “I intend to find her.” He leaned forward, brushed a thumb beneath your cheekbone. “Thank you for being honest before resentment set roots. That takes guts.”

You laughed shakily. “Feels more like cowardice.”

“Honesty’s never cowardice.” He squeezed your hand, then released it. “Go tell him, before I change my mind and keep you here for selfish reasons.”

You rose, tucking the cup near the planter. “I’ll always be grateful of you,  Jihoon.”

“Just remember me when the twins need free check-ups. I can still be their uncle Jihoon.” His chuckle chased you to the elevator, bittersweet but genuine.

☆.

Clouds brooded violet over the Han River by the time you stepped from a taxi at Sunghoon’s building. 

You forced a breath, rode the elevator thirty-nine floors, and stared at the steel door, heartbeat ricocheting. 

Before you could knock, it slid open, sunghoon stood framed in warm lamplight, phone pressed to ear, expression surprised. 

He was about to head somewhere, but he ended the call anyways. “Did we schedule something I forgot?”

“No,” you said, voice thin. “Can I come in?”

He stepped aside, bare feet on oak planks, the apartment scented faintly of roasted sesame, maybe early lunch abandoned. 

He waited until the door shut, then folded arms. “Is everything okay with the kids?”

“They’re fine. At Mom’s till tomorrow.” You swallowed. “I needed to talk… without small ears.”

His eyes softened, wariness mingled with curiosity. He gestured toward the sofa where plushies still lounged from last custody swap.

You both sat, leaving a cushion of space that pulsed with old familiarity and new tension.

You braced elbows on knees. “After the rink video, I’ve been… rethinking a lot.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tensed. “Thought we agreed not to scare them with false hope.”

“This isn’t about false hope.” You looked up, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s about real hope, but only if you want it too.”

His breath caught. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.” Words tumbled out, halting at first, then fluid. “I miss the way you used to leave notes in my pockets, how you’d call from the taxi just to hear me breathe. 

you gulped, laying down the cards alongside uour heart “I miss us arguing about which tea to drink and making up before the kettle boiled. I don’t miss the screaming matches or the silence afterwards, but I believe we’ve grown. The twins forced us to see we can still be a team.” You exhaled. “So I broke things off with Jihoon this afternoon.”

Shock flickered across his features, surprise, then something almost like relief. 

He reached for you, stopped, lowered his hand. “I don’t want you to choose me if being with him made you happy.”

“I know,” you murmured. “And lord, he was amazing.” 

You looked up at him, emotions flickering on your face “But he wasn’t you.”

Silence pooled, thick but gentle. Finally he asked, “What does ‘try again’ look like to you?”

“Coffee on Sunday mornings, just us, talking about anything except bills. Shared therapy if we fall into old traps. Dates, real ones, ending in separate apartments if pace matters. Honesty every step.”

“And what if the spark still scorches us?” His voice husky.

“Then we keep ice buckets nearby,” you teased, then sobered. “I’m not promising a fairytale, just the chance to rebuild.”

He stood, paced to the window where Seoul glittered like scattered gemstones. 

Reflection haloed him in citylight. “I never stopped loving you,” he said, quiet, raw. “I just stopped believing love was enough.”

You rose, walked until you stood an arm’s length away. “Love isn’t enough. But love and work, and two pint-sized spies, might be.”

He laughed softly, turned, and took your hands. “Okay,” he breathed. “Slowly.”

“Slowly,” you echoed. The warmth of his palms radiated up your arms, familiar and electric.

He drew you into an embrace— tentative at first, then securing, his chin atop your head, your ear over his heart. 

The rhythm there felt both new and remembered. You closed your eyes, inhaling cedar and a hint of sesame, and let your muscles melt into a shape they’d once known by instinct.

Minutes or hours might have passed, until finally Sunghoon pulled back a fraction, eyes shining. “Stay for dinner? I burned the sesame oil but I can salvage the soup.”

You smiled through wet lashes. “I’ll chop scallions.”

His lips curved, softness where they’d once been rigid with pride. “And after we eat, we’ll draft a co-parenting treaty version two. The kind with glitter.”

“All treaties should have glitter,” you agreed.

Hand in hand, you moved toward the kitchen, steps slow, hearts quicker. 

Behind you the plush phoenix slumped against the penguin on the couch, as if exhausted from orchestrating fate. 

The sizzle of rekindled soup and the gentle scrape of knives against cutting board marked the beginning, not of going back, but of beginning again, eyes open, promises tempered, sparks tended, slow and deliberate as the first stroke of a painter restoring a treasured canvas.

☆.

The slow-burn weeks unfolded like pages warmed by sunlight: 

Thursday pasta in your kitchen where Yohan grated parmesan with the gravity of a jeweler cutting diamonds and Haneul dirtied the whole table with tomato sauce.

Saturday mornings on Sunghoon’s cavernous couch, your sock-clad feet tucked under a shared blanket while Haneul narrated every plot twist.

Sunday morning pancake (very poor) art, followed by polite squabbles over syrup real estate. 

Between those orchestrated family moments lived quieter, riskier hours, you and Sunghoon trading texts about who’d forgotten the dental forms, a lingering brush of knuckles while rinsing dishes, the way his gaze tracked you when he thought the twins weren’t looking. 

No lightning strike, no fireworks, just kindling stacking itself, breath by breath, until even a whisper could set it alight.

The spark finally caught on a drizzly Friday café run. 

You’d slipped into his apartment with take-out bulgogi and a box of those “unnecessarily cute” star-shaped macarons that made the twins squeal. 

Post-dinner they demanded a pillow-fort marathon of Spirited Away, then conked out before Chihiro met Haku. 

You and Sunghoon carried them, limp with sleep, to the joined rooms they had, the very first room you had used.

When you straightened, Sunghoon’s hand stayed at the small of your back a fraction longer than necessary, you turned, breath hitching at how near his lips had drifted.

No audience. No distractions. Just you, him, a hush weighted by weeks of restraint.

“You’re wearing the honey lipstick again,” he murmured, thumb ghosting the corner of your mouth.

You swallowed. “Maybe I remember it’s your favorite.”

His laugh rumbled low, intimate. “Flattery, or a tactical move?”

“Depends,” you whispered, pulse hammering.

He leaned in, tentative once, then confidence flooded as your mouths met, soft and searching, the air swelling with the musk of his cologne and rain on windowpanes. 

The first kiss tasted of nostalgia, salt-sweet like melted macarons; the second tasted of now, your tongue sliding against his, a hungry sigh you’d forgotten your body could make. 

His palm cupped your jaw, thumb tracing your pulse, the heat where he touched felt almost unbearable. 

When he drew back, breathing ragged, he whispered your name the way it used to fall in the quiet just before dawn: reverent, claiming, achingly gentle.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, forehead resting against yours. “If it’s too fast—”

“Don’t stop,” you answered, fingers fisting in the collar of his henley. “Please.”

Walls you’d rebuilt brick by brick tumbled with shocking softness. 

He nudged you against the hallway wall, kisses deepening, teeth grazing your lower lip. 

Dirty words slipped from his mouth, pet names soaked in promise, in memory of every night you’d once mapped each other’s bodies, and you answered with a breathy moan that made him curse softly. 

His hands found the hem of your dress, palms warm against your thighs, but he slowed, seeking permission, you guided his wrists higher. 

Fabric rustled, buttons surrendered, you pressed close, reveling in the feel of his broad back under your roaming hands, the ripple of muscle tightening as he lifted you slightly to fit knees between your legs. 

Desire pooled, insistent yet exquisitely familiar, as though this dance had only paused, never ended.

“Bedroom,” he managed, voice gravel. 

You nodded, mouths colliding again as he half-walked, half-carried you down the hall. 

And you collided in bed, sheets tangled around your forms dancing a tango you had forgotten was so familiar with him. 

Morning sunlight shone through the curtains Sunghoon had forgotten to open the prior night. 

You stirred first, disoriented, then aware of every muscle pleasantly overworked. 

Sunghoon’s arm lay across your waist, his hand splayed over your stomach. You tilted to watch him sleep, lashes fanning his cheeks, lips parted. 

Sheer peace... well, a peace that shattered with the stampede of four small feet. 

The bedroom door crashed open, squeals ricocheted off walls.

“Attack!” Haneul shrieked, launching herself onto the mattress.

“Dad, wake up!” Yohan followed, slightly less feral but equally determined, penguin plush waving like a flag of conquest.

Sunghoon woke with a strangled grunt just before twenty-five kilos of enthusiasm landed on his rib cage. You fumbled to pull the duvet higher— too late. Haneul’s eyes went huge.

“Mommy’s wearing Daddy’s shirt!” she crowed, triumphant as a detective cracking a cold case.

Yohan grinned. “Mission success?”

You gaped, cheeks flaming, while Sunghoon scrubbed a hand over his face, half mortified, half amused. “Guys, personal space?”

“It’s dawn,” Haneul reasoned. “Cartoons await!”

“I think it’s barely seven.” Your voice rasped embarrassingly. “Can’t cartoons wait till coffee?”

Yohan shook his head with solemn conviction. “Cartoons fuel creativity.”

Sunghoon snorted. “Your bedtime documentaries are paying off.” He sat up, duvet after all staying mercifully in place, and hauled both kids into his lap, pressing kisses to disheveled hair. 

His eyes slid to you, warm, just a hint of mischief. “What do you say we make pancakes? Mommy and I can supervise from the couch.”

“With syrup rivers!” Haneul insisted.

“sprinkles too,” Yohan added.

“Deal,” you said, laughter bubbling. You squeezed their ankles affectionately. “But maybe let Mommy find pants first?”

They scampered off, shouting about mixing bowls. You sagged back, exhaling a near-hysterical giggle while Sunghoon tipped his forehead to yours.

“Well,” he murmured, “that escalated quickly.”

You smacked his chest lightly. “You know they’ll brag about this for years.”

“Probably.” He threaded fingers through yours. “Worth it.”

Your smile softened. “Yeah, worth it.”

Down the hall cupboards slammed, utensils clanged, and a shriek informed you a measuring cup had become airborne. 

You swung your legs over the edge, tee skimming thighs, and stood. Sunghoon caught your wrist, pressing a tender kiss to the inside.

“Round two tonight,” he teased, voice low. “Kid curfew enforced.”

You’ve only been in this apartment building for three months, but that’s long enough to learn one thing: Jeongin never misses a chance.

He was there on your first day, offering to help carry boxes with that smirk tugging at his pierced lip, tattoos shifting as his arms flexed under the weight. You told him you were fine on your own. He carried them anyway. Since then, he’s made it his routine to linger in the hallway whenever you leave, leaning against his doorframe like he owns the place, eyes glinting with trouble.

This morning is no different. You step out in your work clothes, coffee in one hand, keys in the other, and there he is — waiting.

“Good morning,” he drawls, voice low, teasing. “You look good enough to make me skip class.”

You roll your eyes, brushing past him. “How many times do I have to say it? I’m not into younger guys.”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. If anything, the corner of his mouth curls higher, lip ring catching the light as he leans closer and murmurs, “Good thing I’m not just any younger guy.”

It’s not just mornings. Jeongin somehow finds a way to insert himself into your daily rhythm.

Sharing the elevator? He leans against the wall, too close, smirking down at you as if the confined space was made for him to corner you. Sorting trash outside? He shows up at the same time, pretending it’s a coincidence, flashing you that lazy grin when you glare at him.

And it’s infuriating — the way he uses any chance to flirt with you. The way he makes everything sound suggestive, even if he’s just asking how your day went. You’ve told him more than once that you don’t have the patience for adolescent bullshit. You’re too busy, too grounded, to get tangled up with some relentless twenty-something neighbor.

But Jeongin is hot. Annoyingly hot. That lip piercing of his makes his full mouth even harder to ignore, especially when his tongue darts over it while he watches you. His sleeve tattoo curves and flexes with every movement, ink sprawling over muscle that fills out his t-shirts too well. He’s tall, broad in the shoulders, cut in the waist — all the right places, all the things you try not to notice.

And yet you do.

The only thing standing in the way is that he’s five years younger. Five years of arrogance, persistence, and heat wrapped up in a body that knows exactly what it’s doing to you.

But still… you remind yourself: younger boys are nothing but trouble.

So why does your pulse race every time he smirks like he already knows you’re going to give in?

-

The storm breaks faster than you expected. Sheets of rain slam against the side of the building, wind howling through the cracks. By the time you realize the window in your living room won’t budge, the carpet is already damp, water splattering onto the floor with every gust.

You tug and curse under your breath, shoving at the frame, but the thing is jammed stubbornly in place. Cold drops pelt your arms and face. The harder you pull, the more ridiculous it feels, until you’re standing in a puddle, glaring at the stupid thing like it’s mocking you.

You hate it. You hate it — but you know what you have to do. With a muttered groan, you give up, march into the hallway, and stand before the door you swore you’d never knock on.

It swings open faster than you’d like, and of course he’s there — Jeongin, leaning against the frame like he’s been waiting. His hair is messy, shirt clinging just a little too well to the lines of his chest. The glint of metal on his lip catches the light when he smirks.

“Well, well,” he drawls, looking you over. “Didn’t think I’d see you at my door so soon.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms to brace yourself against what’s coming. “Don’t start. My window’s stuck, and the rain’s getting in. I need your help.”

The smirk deepens, smug and wicked. He tilts his head, tattoos shifting over his forearm as he braces a hand against the doorframe. “So you do need me.”

You quietly let out an exasperated sigh. “You know what? Just forget it.”

He is quick enough to grab you by the wrist, stopping you from leaving. “Say it again,” he interrupts, grin tugging wider. “You need me.”

Your teeth clench. “Are you going to help me or not?”

He chuckles low, and steps into the hall, close enough for you to smell the faint musk of rain and his cologne. “Of course I’ll help. But you know…” his eyes drop briefly, dark with suggestion, before flicking back up to yours. “You’ll owe me.”

-

Jeongin strides into your apartment like he’s been there a hundred times before. No hesitation, no glance back at you — just the swagger of someone who already knows he owns the room. He heads straight for the window, crouching to inspect it. His shirt stretches across his back when he grips the frame, muscles shifting under damp cotton. The rain immediately takes advantage of the gap, splattering against him, soaking the thin white fabric until it clings stubbornly to his skin.

“Damn thing’s really stuck,” he mutters, low and husky, tugging with more force. His biceps flex, veins standing out along his forearm as the sleeve tattoo twists with every motion.

You mean to look away, you really do but then the fabric molds to his torso, tracing out the ridges of his abs, the curve of his chest. It’s impossible not to notice. Heat creeps up your neck before you can stop it and that’s exactly when he catches you.

Jeongin turns his head, just slightly, and his eyes lock with yours. You freeze, caught red-handed, lips parting as if you could conjure an excuse, but he doesn’t call you out.

He smirks, a slow, knowing, wicked smirk. The kind that says he’s been waiting for this exact moment — and now that he has it, he won’t ever let you live it down.

Without a word, he turns back to the window and gives one last rough yank. The frame finally slams shut, sealing out the storm. The rain is muffled now, but the storm inside you is anything but.

Jeongin exhales as he wipes his wet hands on his jeans, stepping back from the now-closed window, a sly grin spreads across his lips. “Damn,” he says, dragging a palm over the stubborn frame one last time. “Didn’t know your window would be that tight. Took everything I had just to get it shut.”

Your eyes narrow at the tone he uses — casual, but laced with something else. Something suggestive.

“And now look at me,” he adds, glancing down at himself. His soaked shirt clings shamelessly to every ridge of his torso. “Soaking wet. You really did me dirty.”

Before he can take it further, you spin on your heel and grab a towel from the shelf. When you shove it into his chest, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reply. “Dry yourself before you drip all over my floor.”

Jeongin chuckles low, but instead of dabbing the towel against his shirt, he hooks a thumb into the hem and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. Water droplets trail over his skin, catching the light, and the black ink of his sleeve tattoo looks even darker against the bare muscle of his arm.

You don’t mean to, but your gaze lingers — tracing the carved lines of his abs, the curve of his chest, the pierce of silver at his lip when he bites down to smother a laugh.

“You’re staring again.” His voice is a taunt, rich and deliberate. He dabs lazily at his neck with the towel, leaving the rest of him bare on purpose. “Careful. You keep looking at me like that, I might start to think you want me.”

Heat floods your face, but you force your shoulders into a shrug, masking the way your pulse races. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just making sure you don’t catch a cold.”

Jeongin smirks, towel dangling from his fingers now. “If that’s your way of saying you like what you see…” His eyes sweep you slowly, knowingly. “…then I’ll take it.”

You scoff, roll your eyes, and turn away from him, but it does nothing to cool the fire crawling under your skin. “So,” he drawls, tilting his head. “How are you gonna thank me?”

You don’t dignify him with a reply. Instead, you snatch the wet t-shirt from his hand. “I’ll dry this for you.”

Without waiting for his comeback, you march down the hall and toss it into the dryer. When you return, he’s exactly as you feared he’d be: topless, damp jeans clinging to his thighs, tattoos bold against the lean spread of his muscles. He’s roaming your living room like he owns it, fingers grazing along a shelf, eyes skimming over your things with lazy interest.

The moment he notices you in the doorway, his lips curl. “So… what are we gonna do while we wait for my shirt to dry?”

You roll your eyes and breeze past him toward the kitchen. “I’ll make you a cup of tea. That should keep you busy.”

He follows, leaning his elbows on the counter as you fuss with the kettle, his piercing catching the light when he smiles. His gaze lingers on you, heavy, unbothered. Then, in a low murmur that slides under your skin, he says, “There’s another thing we could do, you know.”

You groan instantly, shoulders slumping. “Gross. I know exactly what you’re about to say—”

“Wrong.” His voice sharpens with amusement, cutting you off. “I meant, you could start by giving me a blanket. Unless you really want me to stay topless in your kitchen and catch a cold.”

You pause with the teabags in hand, torn between exasperation and the heat clawing up your neck. When you glance his way, he’s smirking again — half-daring you, half-enjoying the sight of your restraint unraveling.

You sigh, retreating to your bedroom to grab a blanket for him, determined to put distance between yourself and his attractive smirk. But when you turn around, you see Jeongin is already there, leaning in the doorway. His arms stretch out to either side, hands braced on the frame, blocking you in.

“You know,” he drawls, tilting his head slightly as his eyes roam over your face, “I really don’t get you. I’m hot, I’m fun to be around… and you still act like I’m the problem. So, what is it with you?”

You lift your chin, refusing to show how close he makes your pulse race. “You’re younger than me. That’s the problem.”

His foxy eyes narrow, sharp with amusement. “Bullshit.”

“That’s the truth,” you snap back, trying to brush past him. “What do you want me to say?”

Jeongin leans forward, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. His voice drops, teasing, coaxing. “I want you to admit you’re curious. That you’ve thought about what it feels like… kissing a guy with a lip piercing.”

Your eyes betray you before your words do, flicking down to his mouth. The silver glints under the soft light, his tongue idly nudging the piercing as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

He smirks when he catches you looking, then leans in closer, his words slipping out low and deliberate. “Let me show you. I promise you’ll like my kisses.”

At some point, his hands have found your waist, warm and insistent. He inches closer, closing the distance until he’s only a breath away from your lips.

The air between you tightens, electric and before you can stop yourself, your eyes flutter closed—an unspoken permission. He grins against your mouth just before pressing his lips to yours. The softness of his kiss contrasts with the cool brush of metal, the piercing sending a spark through you. He knows exactly what he’s doing—when to deepen it, when to ease back and let you chase. It leaves you craving more, your resolve unraveling with every flick of his tongue, every calculated pull away.

Jeongin doesn’t give you a chance to pull away. His mouth slants over yours again and again, hungrier each time, until you’re stumbling backward under the sheer force of him. His hands tighten on your waist, steering you effortlessly through the doorway, guiding you with a control that makes your head spin.

Your knees hit the edge of the bed before you realize where he’s leading you. With a gentle but insistent push, you collapse onto the mattress, breathless.

He doesn’t stop kissing you as his body follows yours down, hovering above you, caging you in. The weight of him doesn’t touch you fully, but it’s close enough that you feel his heat radiating through the damp denim of his jeans, the ridges of his muscles shifting with every move.

His lips move over yours with a rougher edge now, pressing harder, deeper, like he’s determined to erase every protest you’ve ever thrown his way. The cool scrape of his lip piercing teases you at every angle, sending sparks down your spine, and every time you gasp for air, he seizes the chance to taste you deeper, his tongue stroking yours with maddening precision.

Your hands instinctively fly up, meaning to push him away but instead you grip his shoulders, dragging him closer. He smirks against your mouth, knowing exactly what that means.

“Told you you’d like my kisses,” he mutters between kisses, his voice low, taunting, chest heaving against yours.

You finally manage to press your palms against his chest, pushing just enough to break the kiss. Both of you are panting, breaths colliding in the narrow space between your mouths. His lips are swollen, glistening, the silver ring catching the low light as he licks at it lazily, eyes still half-lidded with hunger.

“I’ll admit…” you murmur, voice husky, “…I was curious about one thing.”

That smirk of his grows slow, dangerous. “Tell me,” he whispers, daring you.

Your hands trail up to his shoulders, clutching the muscle there as you hold his gaze. Then, shamelessly, you lean closer, your breath brushing his ear as you confess, “I want to know what that piercing feels like… against my wet cunt.”

The silence that follows is electric. His pupils blow wide, and then a sharp laugh escapes him, dark and throaty. “Fuck—”

You don’t give him time to bask. With steady hands, you press down on his shoulders, guiding him lower, lower, until his face hovers just above your thighs. He goes willingly, eyes locked on yours like a predator finally allowed to feast.

Your dress rides high as his hands slide beneath it, slender fingers hooking into the thin fabric between your legs. With a sudden, impatient tug, he rips your underwear clean off, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

“Oh—” you gasp, but your protest dies when his gaze lifts back up to you. His eyes are dark, gleaming with wicked intent. He drags his tongue across his pierced lip slow, deliberate, letting you watch the way the metal glints wet in the light.

“You’re about to find out in a second,” he mutters, voice vibrating with hunger and with no hesitation, he lowers his mouth between your thighs.

-

The first swipe of his tongue is slow, deliberate, tracing the seam of your folds as if he’s savoring the first taste. The cool drag of the piercing makes your body jolt, a sharp gasp spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

“F-fuck—” you breathe, your thighs instinctively clenching around his head, but Jeongin only smirks against you, his tongue pressing deeper.

The sight alone makes your head spin—Jeongin on his knees between your thighs, broad shoulders spread against the mattress, his mouth buried in your wetness like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. His damp hair clings to his forehead, and when his eyes lift to meet yours, it feels like the air gets knocked out of your lungs.

You can’t look away. He’s watching you as he eats you out, watching every twitch, every gasp, every desperate shift of your hips. His lips glisten with your arousal, the silver ring catching the light each time he drags it across your swollen clit.

Your back arches. “Oh, God…”

The moan that breaks from your throat seems to fuel him. His tongue moves faster, his mouth greedier, and when the overwhelming pleasure makes you grab at his hair, tugging hard, he groans into your cunt like he likes it. No—like he wants you to be rough. The vibration sends another shockwave through you, your hips bucking against his face.

He doesn’t relent. If anything, he doubles down, one hand pinning your thigh open while the other presses hard against your hip to hold you in place. His tongue works you in slow, devastating strokes one second and rapid, precise flicks the next, always bringing you right to the edge before easing off, dragging another shameless moan out of you.

“Louder,” he mutters against your slick folds, voice muffled but clear, “let me hear you.” His eyes are still locked on yours, dark and glinting with something both menacing and unbearably hot.

Your thighs tremble, every muscle in your body strung tight as Jeongin devours you. The relentless drag of his tongue, the sinful tease of his lip ring against your clit—it’s all too much and yet not enough. You can feel it coming, the swell in your belly, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter until you’re right there, seconds away from snapping. Your voice breaks on his name, desperate, needy, “J-Jeongin—please—”

Your cry cuts off into a frustrated whimper as he pulls back just enough to let the cool air ghost over your drenched cunt. He licks his lips deliberately, catching your taste on his tongue, the silver ring glinting as he smirks up at you.

“Mm… not yet,” he says, voice low and smug. His thumb traces lazily along your inner thigh, close enough to make you shiver but never touching where you need him most. “You sound too good when you’re begging.”

You glare down at him, chest heaving, but it’s impossible to hide the way your hips twitch, aching for more. He notices, of course he does, and his smirk deepens.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, leaning in to press one slow, devastating lick up your slit. Your body jerks, but he pulls back before you can chase the sensation. “I’ll give it to you when I think you’ve earned it.”

This man knows exactly what he’s doing. You’re panting, flushed, and your hands are still tangled in his hair, torn between yanking him back down and pushing him away before he ruins you.

But Jeongin just settles himself between your thighs again, utterly unhurried, eyes glinting with wicked amusement as he teases another languid stroke over your folds—just enough to remind you what you’re missing, just enough to keep you dangling right there on the brink.

And the worst part? You can feel yourself getting wetter, needier, desperate to give in.

His mouth hot and hungry against your core. His tongue curls just right, the piercing dragging over your clit, and the pressure builds so fast it’s almost unbearable. Your back arches, thighs trembling as you gasp his name, so close—

And then, just when you’re seconds away from falling over the edge, he pulls back again.

You let out a strangled cry, tugging hard at his hair. “Jeongin—fuck—”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking like the cocky little devil he is. “Not yet. You’re gorgeous when you’re desperate. I wanna hear you scream for it.”

Your hips buck toward him, shameless now, but he just presses a hand to your stomach, pinning you down. His touch is firm but teasing, like he owns the pace, owns you.

The next time his mouth returns, it’s worse—better. He alternates between deep, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, never settling long enough to push you over the edge. You’re dripping, writhing under him, the sheets damp beneath you. Your moans are wrecked, pleading, begging without even realizing. Again, right as your body clenches and you’re seconds away, he pulls back with a wicked grin.

You nearly sob. “You’re—fucking cruel—”

“Cruel?” He laughs, low and sinful, kissing the inside of your thigh before biting lightly, making you jolt. “No, baby. I’m giving you exactly what you need. Drawing it out, making it good.”

By the third time he edges you, your voice is raw, your body trembling, every nerve frayed with need. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes from sheer frustration, and he loves it—his smirk, his dark, foxy eyes never leaving your face as he toys with you.

“You’ll thank me later,” he murmurs, his lips brushing over your soaked folds but not giving in. “When I finally let you cum, you’re gonna lose your mind.”

You have enough of getting your orgasms delayed a few times now. Your chest heaves, body trembling as you shove weakly at his head. “S-stop—Jeongin, just stop—”

He pulls back, chin slick, lips red and shiny from your arousal. The smirk he wears is pure sin. “Stop? Baby, I know what that really means. You don’t want me to stop—you just hate that I’m not letting you finish.”

“I—” You choke out a frustrated sound, glaring at him through your haze of need.

Jeongin only laughs under his breath, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. His hand goes to the waistband of his jeans, and when he tugs them down, your breath hitches. His cock springs free, flushed and heavy, the tip wet. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, heat coiling even tighter in your stomach.

He fists himself slowly, lazily stroking up his thick length as he looks at you with that wicked tilt of his lips. “Maybe you don’t even want this inside you, huh? Maybe you can’t handle it.”

Your thighs instinctively press together at the sight, but his other hand pushes them open again, spreading you wide for him as he pumps himself, letting you watch.

The sight alone has you dripping, clenching around nothing, your body betraying your protest.

“You’re quiet now,” he teases, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock as he groans softly. “Don’t tell me you’re scared. Or maybe…” He leans forward, letting his tip drag up your soaked folds, not pushing in—just enough to make you gasp. “…maybe you’re already imagining how deep I’d go.”

Your lips part, a shaky breath leaving you, your eyes fixed on him. The denial, the sight of his swollen cock so close, the teasing words—it all winds you tighter, pushing you closer to breaking.

Your hips buck up instinctively when the tip of his cock drags through your slick folds, but Jeongin presses your thighs down with his strong hands, pinning you to the bed. His grin sharpens, dark eyes glinting with mischief.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he drawls, letting his swollen tip circle your entrance, dipping in just enough for your walls to catch around him before he pulls back again. The stretch is there—and gone just as quickly—leaving you moaning in frustration.

“Please…”

“Please what?” His tone is mocking, breath coming harder now as he keeps teasing himself against your cunt. “You want me inside you, mmh? You think you can take all of this?” He gives himself a rough stroke, showing you just how thick he is, before guiding the head back to your fluttering hole.

When he finally pushes in, it’s only the tip. The blunt head stretches you open deliciously, your walls gripping around him tight. He hisses at the sensation, but instead of giving you more, he freezes there, buried only an inch deep.

Your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging in. “More—god. I need more—”

But he just chuckles, leaning down so his lips ghost over yours. “Mm, not yet. Look at you, already clenching like you’ll break. And I’ve barely given you anything.”

He grinds his hips the slightest bit, making the tip rub against your sensitive inner walls, enough to make your breath stutter and your eyes roll back.

“Fuck—you’re mean,” you whimper.

“I’m generous,” he corrects, smirking. “Because I could keep you like this all night—just my tip, stretching you, keeping you begging. And I’d still make you cum.”

The way he says it, so cocky and sure, makes your whole body burn hotter. You clench desperately around him, your body betraying your words as you moan for more. Every slow grind of his tip inside you feels like fire licking through your veins. He never gives you more than an inch, never lets you feel the full stretch—just the swollen head pressing, rubbing, dragging against that perfect spot inside. It’s maddening, dizzying yet… fucking addictive.

Your moans rise with each shallow thrust, body trembling, toes curling in the sheets. You try to lift your hips, to force more of him inside, but he presses you back down, eyes locked on your face as he watches you unravel.

“Fuck, you’re really about to cum from just this?” he taunts, lips curling into a smirk. “So desperate you don’t even need the whole thing. Just my tip, and you’re already falling apart.”

You cry out, the heat in your belly snapping as your orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clench down greedily on him, fluttering around the crest of his cock while your body arches and shakes. He doesn’t move, just holds you there, forcing you to feel the intensity of cumming on barely anything. When your high fades, you collapse back into the sheets, chest heaving, skin damp with a sheen of sweat.

But Jeongin, he only grins wider, slowly pulling his glistening tip out of you. He gives himself a stroke right in front of you, his cock thick, flushed, and still rock-hard. “Mm, that was cute,” he says, voice low and smug, “but I’m still hard.”

He leans down, lips brushing your ear as his hand keeps stroking his cock, letting you hear how wet you left him. “So… what are you going to do about it?”

You’re still in a haze, unable to form words to answer him when his hand wraps firmly around your waist, pinning you down as he finally presses his cock deeper, inch by inch. Your walls stretch around him, the sting making your mouth fall open in a breathless moan.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp with amusement as he watches every reaction flicker across your face. “Tight little thing, clenching around me like you’re trying to keep me out and pull me in at the same time.”

He pauses when he’s halfway in, grinding his hips just enough to make you shiver, but not enough to give you relief. His lips brush your jaw, his voice dripping low and taunting.

“You want me to fuck you properly? Then take me. Every inch of it.” His hips snap forward, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch is overwhelming, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your nails dig into his shoulders.

Your body clenches desperately around him, but you don’t push him away, don’t squirm to escape. You take him—every inch of him—with your back arching into the sheets, and Jeongin notices.

“Fuck,” he breathes, low and wrecked, before his smirk curls back in place. “You’re taking me so well.”

Instead of fucking you right away, he stays buried to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside you as if he’s testing just how much you can handle. One hand squeezes your waist while his mouth lowers to your chest, lips wrapping around your breast, sucking at your nipple until you gasp. His tongue swirls over the sensitive bud, his teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt.

Your hands fly into his damp hair, tugging as your breath stutters. “Oh—Oh…”

He hums against your skin, vibration shooting straight down to your core, before finally pulling his mouth off your breast with a wet pop. His lips glisten as he looks up at you, wickedness glittering in his eyes.

Without warning, he draws his cock almost all the way out, leaving you painfully empty, only to slam back inside with a force that makes you cry out in pleasure.

“Yeah,” he groans, watching your body react to the thrust. “That’s what I want. That sound. Do it again.”

He repeats it, cruelly slow withdrawal, then a brutal snap of his hips that makes your eyes roll back. You clutch at him, torn between begging him to stop teasing and begging for more. Each time he slams in harder, he’s hitting that spot inside you that makes your body writhe.

“Tell me,” Jeongin pants against your lips, fucking you deeper, harder. “You like it, don’t you? Me pulling out just to ruin you all over again?”

The rain outside is relentless, beating against the window in heavy sheets, but it’s nothing compared to the storm inside your bedroom. His pace grows erratic, his hips snapping against yours with raw urgency. The sound of skin meeting skin mixes with your ragged moans, with his sharp grunts, with the symphony of rain drumming outside. It feels like the world has shrunk to just this—just him inside you, stretching you, filling you, unraveling you.

His forehead presses to yours, damp strands of hair falling into his eyes as he pants against your lips. “Fuck—” His voice breaks, guttural and low, the composure he wore so well earlier slipping with every thrust. “You’re so fucking tight. You’re—” He bites off his words with a moan, hips grinding deep into you, chasing the heat that coils tighter inside him.

Your legs wrap around his waist, locking him closer, and he groans when your walls clench around his cock. His control shatters further, his thrusts harder, needier, less measured. “Shit—if you keep clenching around me like that, I’m gonna—”

He can’t barely finish his sentence. He buries himself to the hilt, grinding against your spot with desperate precision, his lip piercing glinting as he kisses you through the chaos. His tongue tangles with yours, sloppy and hungry, your moans spilling into his mouth, feeding his loss of control. Your body trembles beneath him, sweat-slick skin sticking to the sheets as wave after wave of release leaves you weak, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his waist.

Jeongin doesn’t stop—he won’t let you go, not when your cunt is still spasming around his cock, milking him like it’s desperate to keep him buried inside you.

“Fuck, look at you,” he pants, his voice rough and deep, his piercing glinting when he smirks through his own ragged breaths. “Spent, crying on my cock, and you’re still taking me so well.” He leans down, teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he growls, “You’re mine to ruin tonight.”

Every thrust drags another broken moan out of you, your body overstimulated, yet he just keeps pushing deeper, slower at first, savoring the way you whimper and twitch beneath him. He takes your breast into his mouth again, tongue flicking your nipple, and you nearly sob at how good—how too much—it feels.

Your nails rake down his back, leaving red trails on his skin, and he only groans, fucking into you harder, chasing his own high now. “You’re gonna cum again,” he rasps, watching your face contort with pleasure, his pace punishing and relentless. “I don’t care if you’re begging me to stop—you’re gonna cum until I’m finished with you.”

The storm rages outside, thunder shaking the walls, but all you can hear is the sound of Jeongin’s hips slamming into you, the wet drag of him sliding in and out, and your own voice breaking with cries of pleasure you can’t hold back.

By the time he finally lets go, spilling hot inside you with a guttural curse, your body is wrecked, trembling, spent—but he doesn’t pull out, not yet. He stays deep, grinding lazily into you as if he can’t bear to let you go. One of his hands lazily runs up and down your side, fingertips tracing your curves, grounding you even as your body still trembles from overstimulation.

You whimper faintly, shifting, but he only hums, lips brushing your damp temple. “Stay still,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and low. “I like feeling you like this… all warm, wrapped around me.”

The intimacy in his tone makes your chest ache. You turn your face slightly, catching the soft glint of his lip piercing as he smirks down at you. He looks proud, cocky even, but there’s a gentleness behind his eyes that wasn’t there earlier when he was wrecking you.

“Storm’s not letting up anytime soon,” he adds, his thumb idly brushing over your swollen lip. “Guess you’re stuck with me… like this.”

You sigh, melting into him despite the soreness between your thighs. The steady weight of him inside you, the heat of his body against yours, the sound of rain—it lulls you, pulling you toward a hazy, exhausted calm.

Jeongin presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, before tucking his face into your neck. “Don’t even think about running from me when it’s over,” he murmurs, his breath warm on your skin. “’Cause I’m not done with you… not by a long shot.”

And as the storm rumbles on, the two of you stay tangled together, his cock still nestled deep inside, keeping you filled and connected through the night until the rain begins to ease.

-

The morning couldn’t be more different. The storm has vanished without a trace, leaving the sky so blue it almost looks smug about it. Sunlight streams through your window, warm against your skin, and the only sound is the occasional drip of leftover rainwater sliding off the eaves.

You’re already awake when Jeongin stirs beside you, his arm heavy across your waist, his bare chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. For a moment, you allow yourself the indulgence of watching him—messy hair, slack lips parted just slightly, the silver glint of his lip piercing catching the morning light. He looks younger like this, softer. Too soft for what happened last night.

Your heart betrays you, squeezing painfully and that’s your cue to snap back to reality. You carefully slip from beneath his arm, pad across the room, and pick up his now-dry t-shirt from the dryer.

Without waking him first, you toss it right at him when you return to the bedroom. The fabric lands across his face, startling him awake. He groans, rubbing his eyes, muffled against the cotton.

“What the hell…?” His voice is rough, still husky with sleep. He peels the shirt off his face and looks at you with squinty, foxy eyes, that same lazy smirk already forming. “Good morning to you too.”

You cross your arms, fighting to keep your expression cool. “Your shirt’s dry. Time for you to leave.”

His smirk widens, and he sits up, shirt dangling from one hand, his other dragging slowly through his bedhead. “Wow. Kicking me out already? After the way you screamed my name last night?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking flustered. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just don’t want you overstaying.”

Jeongin laughs under his breath, low and knowing, as he tugs the shirt over his head. It clings to his still-damp skin in places, and you curse yourself for noticing how good he looks, even in something so ordinary. He stands, stretching like he owns the room, then leans against your doorframe with that irritatingly confident posture. “Sure. Pretend you didn’t like it. Pretend you don’t want me here.” His eyes sweep over you, unhurried, making your skin prickle. “But I know better now.”

You roll your eyes and turn away, reaching for the mug you left on the counter, using the excuse of sipping from it to avoid his gaze. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“I do,” he says casually, and then pauses. “But don’t worry—I’ll be back.”

You look up just in time to catch him smirking before he slips out your front door, leaving your apartment quiet again.

The sunlight feels too bright. You try to convince yourself that you hated every second of that smug smile, of his cocky tone. But as you stand there, your body still faintly aching with reminders of him, you know better than to lie to yourself.

You did enjoy last night. Way too fucking much.

Jeongin doesn’t bother putting his t-shirt on first as he reaches for the door, but he pauses after he turns the door knob open and smirks as he mutters, “Call me if you need my help again.”

-

✨ More Seospicy Sunday Special on Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!